Still Waters Run Deep
by Savva
Summary: Theodore Nott, the best criminal investigator in Wizarding London is trying to solve a complicated murder case. His sudden desire for Hermione Weasley doesn't help. !Adultery! Theodore Nott/Hermione Granger. DH Epilogue complaint. Romance/Mystery
1. One

_I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank my betas - Glorioux and Iwalters5. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty and Lima Bean._

_"Reckoner" by Radiohead sets just the right mood. Try it :)_

**_Still Waters Run Deep_**

**_One_**

Theodore Nott felt tired. A dull ache behind his eyes was practically killing him.

Slowly, he took in the nauseatingly-familiar crowd around him. It was one of those banal Ministry functions. He couldn't even compel himself to remember the occasion. At some time during the last fifteen years, which was exactly how long he had been working in Magical Law Enforcement, he had developed a strong feeling of disgust at these so-called soirees.

Everything was always the same — the same hall, same faces, same cheap food and drinks, same envious whispers and fake smiles. There were far too many ex-husbands, ex-boyfriends, and every other possible ex in one poorly-decorated hall. So, naturally, it would be too naive to hope for even the slightest hint of sincerity in their common pretended joy.

An acute and sudden desire to throw up momentarily engulfed him, and he was forced to take an urgent and life-saving swig of his drink. Somehow, this felt like more than just his habitual disgust. He hated to be a part of this farce with every fibre of his being. He wasn't sure exactly what it was. The Ministry functions had never before elicited such a strong reaction from him.

Maybe he was just exhausted and a bit more wound-up than usual. His position as the chief of Criminal Investigations was not exactly helpful in his quest for relaxation. It was true that he had begun tiptoeing on the emotional edge long before. Actually, it had been so long that now it seemed as if he had always been like that — always as taut as the string of a bow, always ready to spring, always on the brink.

On the other hand, maybe it was the finalisation of Draco's divorce, which his blond friend had announced to him just a few minutes ago. It might very well be that. It was weird how instantly and irrevocably his friends' divorce had thrown him out of balance. They were both his friends, Astoria and Draco. Moreover, he loved Scorpius deeply. He was his godfather, after all, and over the years he had developed a true connection with the lad. It was hard to watch how his godson had turned from a happy, smiling, and properly-spoiled Malfoy boy into the sad-eyed, confused teenager who obviously wasn't ready to choose between his mother and father. "Damn," Theo cursed under his breath. "Bugger!_"_

He was a bloody detective. Every day, he was surrounded by different degrees of awfulness, which went hand in hand with death and pain. It was his job. He ought to have toughened up by now. However, the everyday criminal routine didn't hit as close to home as Astoria's tears or Draco's growls.

Maybe it was simply that wretched middle-age crisis about which everybody around him had been buzzing for a few years now. _Who knows_, he sighed inwardly. He would be forty next month. Maybe now it was his turn to do something stupid and outrageous. Luckily, he was single, so at least there was no divorce looming over his head. He frowned, thinking, trying to determine his feelings about his impending birthday. The number was round and nasty. Yes, he acknowledged that, but _crisis_? He couldn't detect the signs of any freaking crisis in the depths of his soul. No. He decided that the approaching midpoint in his life wasn't the reason for his more than slightly unpleasant mood today.

When that quick internal investigation proved utterly fruitless, he glanced around, trying to figure out what exactly had triggered his negativity to such an extent. He knew his mind well, and it had detected something awry. There must be a reason for his discomfort hidden somewhere around him. His trained, dark-blue eyes slid over the well-known faces with suspicion, looking for a clue.

First, he carefully examined his friends sitting near him. For a moment or so, he focused his gaze on Pansy and her new bimbo Zacharias. Watching them, he wasn't able to hold back a wry smirk. It seemed to him that Pansy still couldn't get over her obsession with blonds. As a friend, he had lost track of her blond lovers long ago. _Hmm_, that had happened probably right after Draco. However, her newly acquired beau managed to annoy the hell out of Theo. Zacharias's snobbish demeanour and idiotic way of pronouncing everything through his nose, which was awfully insignificant for a man, made Theo cringe every time he saw or heard him. But Pansy looked happy, and it was enough reason for Theo to keep his opinion to himself. Sometimes he felt a genuine envy for Pansy's easy-going attitude and determination to enjoy her life to the max. She was forty and unmarried. Her blokes were changing every other month or so, and frankly, she was not giving a damn about all that middle-age rubbish. Even now, here, at this gloomy party, she had found a way to have fun. _Lucky wench_, Theo thought.

Next to Pansy sat Draco, who looked, if not entirely sloshed already, then at least well on the way. Draco's face was sombre, detached. Their eyes met for a moment, and Theo's friend of many years made an attempt to smile. A weak shadow of the famous Malfoy smirk ghosted over his lips and vanished, not quite making it. The suddenly intensified clamour in Theo's ears and pressure in his temples was the cue for him to turn his face away from Draco and his pained eyes. His glance slid briefly over Marcus, Blaise, Astoria, Daphne, and his other fellow Slytherins. It seemed odd and somewhat pathetic that, even after twenty-two years, they still grouped themselves primarily by houses. _Old habits die hard,_ Theo chuckled to himself.

There was one objective reason for them to stick together, though. Slytherins were typically presented at the Ministry functions as patrons. They didn't work at the Ministry. They provided the monetary support, so to speak. After the war, it had been a necessity for those who had managed to avoid Azkaban — they had needed to gain a respectable standing once again. Thus, they had paid their dues, and they were still paying them now. Wizards like Theo were a rare exception in the Slytherin crowd.

The people who actually worked in the Ministry were mostly on the other side of the hall. Slowly, he turned his gaze to them. There sat his colleagues. Sure enough, all four detectives who worked under him were there, along with Potter and his Aurors and, of course, the rest of the department. Unsurprisingly, even after nearly sixteen years of working in proximity, Potter had never become Harry for him. They still kept calling each other by their last names. _Old habits, indeed,_ Theo thought with a smirk.

It had been an insane glitch of fate that he, Theodore Nott, had been invited fifteen years ago to work for the Ministry, and for Magical Law Enforcement, no less. Fate's intervention had had a face, of course — the face of the Granger girl. Had she become a Weasley by then? Hell, that hadn't mattered to him — he had never cared much for the bint – too pushy, far too loud for his liking, and with horrible, horrible hair. She was the one who had found his small private-investigation practice when she had decided that apparently Potter had a need for a real detective — one who had been properly trained and had actually studied the art of deduction.

It had been that infamous case of the water poisoning in Hogwarts. Miraculously, none of the children had been hurt. However, five Hogwarts elves had died from it, and that fact had explained Granger's involvement to Theo. The investigation had ground to a complete halt. The Aurors hadn't been able to find any clues for weeks. The parents' uproar had been unimaginable. The school had been brought to the brink of closing, and Potter had been at his wit's end for days. So, naturally, Granger, always the saviour, had found Theo and asked him for help.

Now, fifteen years later, Theo still could not explain to himself why he had agreed to take the job. But he had taken it, and, together with Potter, they had solved the case. After that, Potter had offered Theo the chance to work with him in the Ministry, and he had, once again, agreed.

Theo nodded to Potter when their eyes met. Then he made a quick salute to his team of detectives, who always sat together with the Aurors, and continued his examination of the hall. Near Potter, there was the Weasley clan, of course. He didn't pay too much attention to all the redheads and moved his gaze further away. However, at the end of a long line of bright red, his peripheral vision caught something unusual — a face. A woman's face, to be precise. Was it a new face among the Weasleys?

He knew for a fact that all the Weasley men had settled down, and he hadn't heard any divorce news from that particular side. Being a detective, he did pay close attention to rumours. After all, the lion's share of all offences and crimes were conducted in the domestic field.

Intrigued, the ache behind his eyes and his nausea forgotten, he focused his blue eyes on a face he couldn't recognise immediately. The woman had a pale, soft complexion and dark eyes. She had a pixie haircut, and her curves were clad in a little black dress with bare shoulders. Alas, the idiotic, tasteless bouquets and dishes on the table concealed all other details from him. She was jammed between Ronald and Percy Weasley, and, with her extremely short hair and pale face, she looked, to Theo, like a complete, but extremely intriguing and alluring, alien. Watching this stranger carefully, he couldn't shake the peculiar feeling that he indeed knew her. Yet he couldn't quite put a name to the face.

As minutes passed, he grew more and more agitated every second. The question '_Who is she?' _bolted through his mind. _Brown hair, probably brown eyes, pale skin, a slightly pert nose ... _He closed his eyes, analysing the clues. Aghh, he knew who she was: the answer was there, swimming on the surface of his consciousness. He just needed one little push, and he would catch it.

"Is that Granger? What has she done with herself? She is almost unrecognisable. Theo, look, I cannot believe it's Granger." Draco's drunken drawl abruptly ended Theo's guessing agony.

_Yes, damn, of course, it is Granger! _Theo's eyes flew open, and he saw that apparently, while he had been trying to identify the witch, she had stood up, and now seemed to be walking briskly toward their table. Her curve-hugging little black dress was fully visible, at last, and, quite oddly, Theo's throat instantly dried out and his heartbeat noticeably increased its tempo at the view. He watched intently how she manoeuvred between the tables, easily navigating her way towards him.

Absurd thoughts jostled through his mind. _Why is she coming this way? The loo is on the other side of the hall. Did she notice that I was staring at her?_

When she was almost near him, he began feverishly to seek the right greeting in his tired and aching mind. However, she didn't stop. She simply walked by, gave him a fleeting smile and a slight nod, and then exited the hall through the back door.

_Blast_, Theo growled with chagrin as the bitter taste of disappointment came to his mouth. Inexplicably, he had an irrepressible urge to follow her, and instantly sprang up, almost tipping his chair over in the process. The last thing he heard before going after her was Draco slurring again: "Where are you going Theo? You are not leaving yet, are you?"

Theo turned to face his friend and muttered: "No, Draco, no. I just need a breath of fresh air. I'll be back in a sec, mate. Don't worry, I'm not leaving you here alone." With that, he patted Draco's slumped shoulder and went after the mysteriously- and almost unrecognisably-altered Granger.

When he made it outside, he found her leaning against a column and languidly smoking a cigarette. On hearing the sound of a heavy door slamming shut, she turned to face him. She didn't say anything and didn't do anything. She just stood there, leisurely puffing a long, slim cigarette and watching him with her calm, chocolate-brown eyes.

For a while, he simply stared at her, not inclined to talk just yet, either. She honestly looked different. Her face had changed, her eyes, her figure, her cleavage — everything. The last time he had seen her this close, not across the hall at the Ministry function, had been seven or eight years ago. He hadn't had his own room then, and she had been visiting Potter regularly. She had always seemed too plain to him then, too boring, or too unsophisticated, perhaps. She had lacked that unique charm, that intoxicating air of mystery around her. Moreover, her immense head of hair had annoyed him immensely.

Now, with her hair out of the way, he finally saw Hermione Granger. Slowly savouring every detail, he drank in her stubborn jawline; her full, wilful lips; her well-defined cheekbones, and her high forehead. Her eyes, however, were not as sparkly as he remembered. Her sharp wit still shone through, of course, but now her gaze was laced with a hint of weariness, maybe even slight annoyance. Was it boredom? He actually wasn't sure how to read it.

Her haircut was extremely short, and to him it looked bloody brilliant on her. There was no sign of her customary wild curls, and now her neck and all her soft curves were exposed to his eyes. And she _was_ quite curvy, all right. The dryness in his throat returned with renewed strength, and his heartbeat changed to a staccato pace.

It was bizarre how a mere haircut could change one's whole demeanour and make a person utterly unrecognisable, how instantly it added a mystery where it had not been before. It was unbelievable, completely bonkers.

_I didn't recognise Granger _— _sheer lunacy,_ he chuckled inwardly with amusement.

"Please, Theo, do tell a joke. I would love to share your excitement. "Granger's voice simultaneously stopped Theo's musings and killed the laughter right in his throat.

He didn't answer, still gazing at her intently. Then he flashed her a crooked smirk. "Do you have another cigarette, Granger?" he said, stepping closer to the column on which she was leaning.

"Last one, sorry," she murmured, watching him with interest. "Here, we can share this one, if you don't mind." Something bordering on a challenge sparkled in her eyes.

Theo arched a single eyebrow at her, and, with a touch of a smile, said: "I don't mind, Granger. You?"

"Obviously I don't, Theo. I do mind your calling me Granger, though. It's childish, really." And she extended her bare arm, passing him the cigarette she had been smoking. He took it and put it in his mouth, feeling his heart pulsing its staccato beat, not quite in his chest: much lower, in fact.

They smoked her last cigarette in silence, looking at each other. He found the act disturbingly arousing. By the time they finished, he felt almost undone.

She turned to put out the cigarette, and his breath caught short at the sight of her backside clad in black silk. _Oh, Merlin's beard, when did Granger become that curvy?_ Starkly defined by her fitted dress, the steep slope between her narrow waist and her luscious hips made him want to groan. He could imagine now what it would do to him, just to be able to trace that steep line, first with his fingertips, then palms, then tongue.

_Argh, don't be ridiculous, it's Granger,_ he scolded himself, watching her.

The situation was positively surreal. He, Theodore Nott, was suddenly overcome with desire for Hermione Weasley. He wanted her, maybe even urgently needed her. That idea, insistently pulsating in his brain, caused a noticeable throbbing in his trousers. He shook his head in bewilderment and stuffed his hands into his trousers pockets, hoping to obtain at least some sort of control over himself.

"I like your haircut," he said.

"Thanks, Theo."

She didn't face him. She simply stood there, on the stairs, silently looking into the darkness. Crisp, night air began to nibble at her skin, and she shivered, hugging herself in a futile attempt to keep herself warm. He couldn't tear his eyes from her. Her skin shimmered softly in the yellow light of the gas lamps. At the nape of her neck, he noticed a few loose locks. Lonely and cut short, they still curled proudly and wildly, as reminders of the true nature of their owner.

And – _oh bugger_ – he was certain those little curls were calling him. Unwilling to restrain himself, he stepped toward her and pressed his lips to those provocative, shamelessly enticing locks. He deliberately left his hands trapped in his pockets. He was not about to allow himself to grope Granger – _aghh_, _Hermione – _here, on the stinking back stairs.

Understanding the utter senselessness of his behaviour, he still stubbornly kissed and nibbled at her neck, awaiting her rebuke any minute and maybe even a painful blow to the face. Her volatile temperament was well known in the Wizarding world.

However, after the few first seconds, neither had come. Her breath became shallow, and Theo, suddenly hungry and greedy for more, freed his hands, turned her to face him, and kissed her lips. She didn't answer, but she didn't stop him either. Somewhat encouraged, he circled her waist and pressed her to him, demonstrating loud and clear the extent of his need for her.

That did it. Hermione finally sprang to life. To Theo's surprise, she didn't push him, hex him, or hit him; instead, she did quite the opposite. Her fingers roughly pulled his hair to her, and this time her lips pressed themselves urgently against his. The kiss quickly escalated into a mutual, passionate exploration, and his fingers began to inch towards her silk-covered breasts. His mouth ventured lower on her neck, and she let a soft moan float free into the night.

Alas, in the next instant, the couple were rendered motionless by loud bangs and shouts coming from the hall. Theo came to his senses first, and wand in hand, sprinted inside. Some wizards and witches ran by him in panic. When he burst into the room, he found a scene of complete chaos. Broken chairs and pieces of porcelain china were scattered on the floor. A thick crowd had gathered in the centre of the room, and he could clearly hear Potter's voice shouting orders.

When he finally made it through the crowd, he saw four bodies on the parquet. Draco sat nearby, on the floor as well. Potter's green eyes were dark, his hair wild. The sickening feeling and dull ache behind Theo's eyes came back. There, on the floor, was the reason for his earlier agitation. He knew it. He had felt from the beginning that something was off, and he could probably have prevented this from happening. However, he had stupidly chosen to fondle a married woman in the back alley instead.

"Damn," he cursed. With that, he took his familiar notebook from his chest pocket, tightly clenched his jaw, and walked toward the victims and the mad-looking Potter.


	2. Two

_I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank my betas - Glorioux and Iwalters5. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty and Lima Bean._

_"Reckoner" by Radiohead sets just the right mood. Try it :)_

**_Still Waters Run Deep_**

**_Two_**

Theo had almost reached the middle of the hall when Draco suddenly sprang up, charged toward Astoria, grab her chin, and shout: "Look at your handiwork, you stupid bitch!", brutally twisting her head and forcing her to look at the bodies lying on the ground. As if in slow motion, Theo watched the scene unfolding in front of him. Astoria's face was pale and frightened as she tried to break away from Draco; Daphne was reaching for her wand with a fierce expression; Blaise was trying to catch Draco's arm and stop him, and Potter and his Aurors were finally coming to life, rushing to the epicentre of the crisis.

In the next instant, before anything unwanted or unnecessary could happen, Theo brought Draco back to reality with a sharp blow on his cheekbone. That brought an end to the incident immediately. Draco growled and shot Theo a heated glare, but he released Astoria's chin and stepped back from her, wordlessly spitting blood on the floor and slumping into the nearest chair, his face blank. Theo's four detectives silently slid like shadows onto the scene and took care of the Greengrasses and the others. Potter acknowledged Theo's quick thinking with a glance and ordered his Aurors to go back to calming the crowd. That gave Theo an opportunity to begin the painstakingly thorough process of collecting evidence and clues.

The moment they were done with routine, he decided to send his detectives home. "Go. You can still catch a few hours of sleep, if you are lucky," he said to Anthony Goldstein, watching St. Mungo's medics transport four covered corpses from the hall. Theo knew that it would be useless for him. He wouldn't be able to fall asleep anyway, so it didn't make sense to go home. It would be much more productive to start analysing everything they had managed to accumulate immediately than to toss and turn pointlessly in his bed. Besides, in the unlikely event he fell asleep, there was always the sofa in his office.

Luckily, over the years, he had trained his teammates well. They knew just what their chief needed right now — solitude, silence, a glass of Firewhisky, and a cigarette.

"Fine, we'll see you in the morning then," Anthony answered. Theo felt his thoughtful gaze and nodded to him, trying to convince his colleague and friend that he was all right. Anthony had been working with him for fourteen years. He was one of the two senior detectives in the group and his right hand. "Don't smoke too much, boss." Anthony lightly squeezed Theo's shoulder and gestured to the others. "Let's go, mates: we're done here." Stephen, the second senior detective, saluted him, and they left, dragging the two younger and overeager group members with them.

Once they had left, Theo glanced around and quickly found Draco's figure crumpled in one of the chairs. The recollection of the chaos that his friend had managed to create a few hours ago made him cringe. He walked over to Draco and patted his arm. "Time to go home, Draco. I'll take you."

Draco lifted his head, and his slate eyes slid over Theo. "You hit me," he said hoarsely. "Why did you hit me? Why didn't you let me kill the bitch? Did you see what she'd done? She's after me: don't you get it? They are all after me — she, her sister, the whole damned family. They want Scorpius and the Malfoy money. Don't you see it, Theo? You are the bloody detective here!" Draco's voice went higher, and his facial expression once again came dangerously close to one of utter madness.

Now, looking into Draco's furious eyes and at the blooming bruise on his cheek, Theo couldn't explain even to himself what had possessed him to strike his friend. He had done it instinctively. It was his automatic response to the situation, and he had learned long ago to trust his instincts. "Easy, mate, easy. I'm sorry I hit you. Please calm down. I didn't want you to get in trouble. We don't have any evidence yet, Draco. You know how it works. Plus, you may see things differently tomorrow."

Draco shook his hand off his shoulder in one exasperated movement. "I can get home by myself. I do not require assistance," he hissed.

Theo's patience began to thin, and he barked: "Stop this, Draco. In case you have forgotten, Pansy was my friend as well. You know we will get to the bottom of this. But for now, stop this whining and let me get you home." That, at last, did it, and Draco stood up. A few moments later, they appeared in the Manor hall. There, Theo patiently waited while Draco wrote a short note to Lucius, knowing from experience that it was always better to keep the older Malfoy properly informed. After the letter had been sent, he made sure that Draco took a Sleeping Potion, and then he left.

By the time he got to his office, it was well after midnight. The Ministry was quiet and deserted. As usual, only a pair of Aurors were on duty overnight. While walking through the dimly-lit corridor, he could hear their muted talk behind the closed doors of their quarters. His group had had its own rooms for the last eight years. They were located on the same floor, just a bit further down the hallway. It wasn't much — one common room and his office. The common room was filled to capacity with four desks, a chalkboard, and endless rows of filing cabinets.

There, in those files, were stored every breath and hiccup of Britain's Wizarding world that he and his detectives had happened to come across. For years, fastidiously, crumb by crumb, he had been carefully gathering and cataloguing information for his impressive archive. There was something on almost every member of this tightly-knit community. Many of its silly, embarrassing, and sometimes downright chilling secrets were safely kept in these files. Eighteen years of constant vigilance and constant recording were cramped into the rows of filing cabinets.

_Not everything__, __apparently_, Theo thought, snorting in irritation and stopping in front of one of the cabinets. Hermione Granger's drastic transformation had gone unnoticed and thus unrecorded. The fact that his thoughts returned to Hermione surprised him unpleasantly. It was quite unlike him to be so easily distracted during an active investigation. Then again, today had been anything but ordinary.

Theo waved his hand and the cabinet's drawer slid open. He peeked inside, only to confirm that it indeed opened to the letter '_G_'. Yes, here she was — Hermione Granger-Weasley. Suddenly annoyed, he slammed the metal drawer shut with a deafening crack. "Blast," he cursed, and hurriedly retreated into his office, the entrance to which was located in the far right corner of the common room.

Once there, he took off his robes, threw them on the sofa, poured himself a Firewhisky, and took a swig of the amber liquid. Swallowing slowly, he waited for the Firewhisky to burn down the lump in his throat, knowing that it wouldn't be able to do it. _We lost Pansy today. Fuck, I almost lost Draco._

He lit a cigarette and finally settled down at his desk. Sipping his drink, he slowly inhaled and exhaled, letting the smoke swirl around him, cocooning him. The taste on his tongue reminded him of another cigarette he had smoked not so long ago. For a minute, thoughts of Hermione's soft lips filled his mind. "Damn!" Grunting curses under his breath, he extracted his notebook from the chest pocket of his robe and firmly pushed Hermione out of his mind.

"All right," he muttered to himself. "Let's see where we are."

Unfortunately, he didn't have all the vital information yet. The autopsy and toxicology reports would come from St. Mungo's later today. He did have the scrupulously-written facts in his notebook, and that would have to do for now. He had four dead — Pansy Parkinson, Zacharias Smith, Romilda Vane, and Miles Bletchley. All four had been seated together, with Draco Malfoy between them, and he was the only one who had remained alive.

Theodore drew a heavy sigh. He knew precisely why his friend was still among the living — he hadn't been eating at all during the party. Draco's mission had been to get pissed as quickly as possible, and food hadn't been on his list. _Thank Merlin_, Theo shuddered. _I almost lost him today_, he thought once again.

He frowned and shook his head. Draco's presence at the table had set the premises for one powerful motive, the direction in which the investigation would surely move. That particular path was quite troubling, because, given their fresh and rather bitter divorce, Astoria would become the prime suspect. It was a possibility, no matter how desperately Theo didn't want to believe it. Moreover, if Draco had been targeted, then the four victims were just collateral damage.

Another possible scenario that he saw at this moment was Pansy's having finally ticked off some psychotic, jealous, and over-possessive wizard – someone whom she had left with a thirst for revenge. Theo groaned and began to massage his temples. More than once, he had told her to tone down her adventurous lifestyle. Not all wizards in their society were reformed. Some of them still held on to their archaic opinion of women's roles and rights.

Either way, he had a murderer on the loose, and that was not an acceptable situation. He lit a second cigarette and cursed. The case looked nasty. He hadn't found any traces of dark magic. All four victims had perished instantly. In the hall that had been filled with Aurors and war veterans, no one had had the opportunity even to peep. Even more troubling was the fact that they hadn't been able to find the elf that had been serving this part of the hall. The creature had simply vanished into thin air.

Summoning the files of the four murder victims, Theo sank deeply into his work. Dawn found him still behind his desk, hovering over files and papers, which were lightly dusted with cigarette ash. Simultaneously with the first sunrays, the door to his office opened, revealing Anthony's silhouette, barely visible through the thick clouds of smoke.

"Oh, yes, just as I thought," Anthony said, coughing. Enthusiastically stepping over the threshold, he waved his wand with trained precision, clearing the air in the room from smoke and cleaning the ash from the papers.

"Morning, Tosh." Theo lifted his face and nodded to Anthony. "Did you swing by St. Mungo's?"

"Yes, yes, boss, I did. Nothing is ready yet. Some impudent witch from the laboratory met me with a snide remark about the huge number of tests they need to run for the people who are still alive, implying that our dead clients can wait," Anthony reported, crinkling his nose in displeasure.

Theo sprung up from his chair and began to pace across the office. "Stupid bint. We need these results immediately! Agh, we ought to have our own forensic lab. I'm sick and tired of dealing with these idiotic cows in St. Mungo's." He abruptly stopped and focused his blue eyes on Anthony. "Can Stephen ask that girl Lora he's been flirting with for the last few years? She helped him before, as I remember."

Anthony's deep brown eyes lit up, and a suggestive smile spread over his lips. "Of course he can. I am fairly certain he'll do just that over their morning tea. As soon as they wake up, that is. It's only six in the morning, so we need to give them a bit more time, boss."

Theo arched an eyebrow and chuckled: "Finally. It took him long enough. Very well, we are covered, then." Calmed, he returned to his desk, sat down, and plunged into his work again. "Have you fixed their files yet?" he muttered, not lifting his head from the papers.

"I'm going to do it today." Anthony walked to the desk and moved all the scattered papers and files aside. "I've brought you coffee. You need to drink it, Theo. I'm sure you haven't slept a wink."

Theo smiled, took the coffee cup, and brought it to his nose, appreciatively inhaling the enticing aroma. "Thanks, mate, you're a life-saver."

"Yes, yes, I know I am. Sonya made you a sandwich, by the way," Anthony said, planting the bag in front of him. "You know the drill, boss. If you don't want her to Apparate here with chicken broth, you have to take at least one bite."

Theo groaned, glaring helplessly at the neat brown paper package on his desk. "Honestly, man, can't you control your witch at all? You've been married to her for twenty bloody years, and you still don't know how to tame her," he snorted.

"Who says I don't know how to tame her?" Anthony shot him a look of mock-outrage. "I know exactly how. It's just that I prefer her untamed."

"Yeah, yeah," Theo drawled, slowly unwrapping the package. "Just admit the fact that she is much quicker with the wand than you are. Face it, Tosh, you're scared of her. Merlin, even I'm scared of her, sometimes, or, at least, of her chicken soup." He took a bite of the sandwich and dutifully began to chew.

Anthony guffawed. "Now you're talking nonsense. I am definitely not scared of my own wife. Though she is quite quick with hexes and bloody brilliant with tracing charms."

"Oh, yes, you should know that," Theo said with a smirk, and took another bite.

Anthony's face flushed just a little bit, and he muttered: "Eat, boss. I'll be back in a few."

Theo shook his head and chuckled again. He liked Anthony, and Sonya was unquestionably a force to reckon with. He had experienced her wrath once or twice, and it wasn't pleasant, to say the least. Still chewing the sandwich, sipping coffee, and feeling somewhat hopeful, he returned to his analysis. Warmed by this little piece of family bliss packed into the brown bag especially for him, he desperately wanted to find some signs indicating that this tragedy would stop there. Four victims were more than enough. He sighed. His experience, along with cold logic, was telling him the opposite, destroying his warm, fuzzy hopes without giving them an opportunity to settle in his mind or heart even for a minute. He knew it was only the beginning.

The fresh issue of the _Prophet _that Anthony smacked on his desk interrupted Theo's musings. His trained eyes found the crime column instantly. There were exactly four lines, containing forty dry words, about yesterday's incident at the Ministry function.

"Yeah, I could almost see Malfoy Senior squeezing Rita's throat while I was reading that," Anthony chuckled.

"I can imagine that, all right. I knew he would interfere," Theo grinned. "It's nice that Lucius took Rita off our arses, though."

"Agh, thanks a bloody lot, boss. The thought that the safety of my _toches*_ are now in Lucius Malfoy's hands will keep me awake at night, I'm certain."

A few hours later, when all four detectives had returned to the office, they had a short meeting. Stephen brought disappointing news about the lab reports. Even with an insider in St. Mungo's, the results would be available only by tomorrow morning at the earliest. Hearing that, Theo clenched his jaw and made a mental note about lobbying for a forensic lab in the Ministry. After a brief discussion, it was decided that Anthony would look into the missing elf situation, Stephen would take over Pansy and Zacharias' recent activities, and Alex and Seth would look for any clues in Romilda and Miles's lives. Theo would visit Pansy's parents and the Greengrasses, with the intention of swinging by Malfoy Manor on his way back to the office.

When Theo was preparing to leave, Anthony peeked into his office and, wiggling his eyebrows, said: "The Auror's come to see you", with heavy emphasis on _the_**.**

Next, Theo heard Potter's voice saying: "Thanks, Anthony," and, a second later, _the_ Auror himself briskly walked into the room in all his dishevelled glory. "Nott."

"Potter," muttered Theo, watching him closely.

Potter stopped right in front of the desk and, without sitting down, began to talk. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about Pansy. I know you were friends, starting from Hogwarts."

"Thank you, Potter. I'm touched. Is that all?" Theo knew exactly why _the _Auror was here. Yet he opted not to help him in his quest. He watched with interest how Potter frowned for a second, probably getting rid of his last doubts.

Finally, Gryffindor directness took over, and he said: "I'm not sure that it's right for you to investigate this case, Nott. It has hit you too closely. Draco and Astoria are your friends, after all. I think it would be best for me to take over the investigation." His green eyes focused on Theo.

Theodore listened to him silently, keeping his face impassive. When Potter had finished, he paused for a few moments, and then asked: "Have you found another group of detectives?"

"No."

"Are you firing me?"

"No. As you well know, Nott, we don't have another investigation group, and we don't have another detective of your calibre in the Ministry."

"Thank you for the compliment, Potter. I'm touched again. I don't see how this case is different from any other case we've had. The investigation is open, and my detectives are actively working on it. To make you feel better, I can assure you that if, at any time during this, we uncover some sort of Death Eater organization, I'll personally inform the Aurors. Public safety is always my first and foremost concern. However, as long as this case is classified as domestic crime, my group will continue to work on it. I appreciate your concern, though. Now, if you'll excuse me, we have a murderer to find."

Theo locked his steely gaze on Potter, waiting for him to leave. Potter took the hint, and left with a curt nod and without a single word. Minutes later, all the detectives went on their missions. Theo was the last to leave. He checked all the desks for stray files or out-of-place papers, warded all the cabinets and doors, and hastened through the Ministry corridor to the Apparition point. His first stop would be his flat — he was in need of a shower and fresh clothes.

Seven hours later, utterly exhausted, he stepped out of the Floo in the West Wing of the Ministry. The two visits he had paid turned out just as he had expected — almost unbearable. Pansy Parkinson's grief-stricken parents hadn't had any idea about her recent activities. The fact that they didn't understand and approve of their daughter's lifestyle didn't help them to cope with the loss. She had been their little girl, no matter what, and so they were in a bad place today. Theo had tried to offer comfort to Pansy's mother and to calm her father, knowing quite well how futile his attempts were. Of course, when they had asked him to stay for lunch, he hadn't had the heart to decline. He had stayed — it was the least he could do for them.

The Greengrasses had been an entirely different story. His visit hadn't been meant as a courtesy call. Upon his arrival, he had requested a tête-à-tête with each family member. Sure enough, as soon as Astoria's parents learned that their daughter was considered a suspect, the atmosphere became openly hostile. It hadn't stopped Theo from interviewing all of them, though. Fortunately, at least Astoria herself had been quite cooperative. Unfortunately, after spending three hours digging through the Greengrasses' dirty laundry, he had left with even more unanswered questions.

"Agh, damn it," he growled. He needed to have a word with Draco**. **He had a feeling that Astoria was hiding something. But, before requesting a formal interrogation with Veritaserum and fully destroying his friendship with Astoria, he wanted to ask Draco a few questions. Knowing that the visit to Malfoy Manor wouldn't be quick, he decided to check the office in the hope that one of his detectives had had more luck than he had.

He was slowly walking toward his office through the Ministry corridors. His mind was busy cataloguing all the information he had managed to collect today. His eyes kept checking the face of every passer-by, out of habit. There weren't many people, though — it was already after five, and most of the departments were closed for the day.

Hence, he was caught by surprise when his eyes fell upon a pale face topped with an extremely short haircut. "Shite," he cursed. Hermione was standing in the hallway, engaged in a lively conversation with two wizards from the Regulations department. With annoyance, Theo noticed how one of them unceremoniously patted her shoulder, probably trying to regain her attention.

Theo didn't change his pace and didn't nod to her. He couldn't, however, control his gaze. His treacherous eyes focused on her against his will. She met his stare with a slight smile. It wasn't even a full smile; it was just a shadow of one, and still it made him warm all over. Keeping his steps steady, he loosened his shirt-collar. His reactions to Hermione Granger were beginning seriously to annoy him. _Maybe it's that freaking crisis, after all, _he thought, firmly pushing her out of his mind.

By the time he reached his office, the case had filled his mind once again. The detectives' room was empty, and he walked through it straight to his office, hoping to find at least a few reports on his desk. There was only a note from Anthony, stating that he was following a lead and would be back in the office around nine. Disappointed and suddenly extremely tired, Theo collapsed on the chair, resting his head on his arms and pressing his forehead to the cool surface of the desk.

The sound of soft steps forced him to look up. Hermione stood at the door of his office, and her brown eyes were full of concern and sympathy.

"Are you all right?" she asked, walking into the room and approaching him.

"Why are you here?" he asked, not bothering to answer her question.

"I'm sorry about Pansy," she said, indicating that she was not inclined to answer his question either.

"Why are you here, Hermione?" he asked again, standing up. One wave of his hand made the door of his office shut. Another wave added the wards and charms. "Potter and his Aurors are next door, you know that. Someone could have seen you. Aren't you afraid to taint your reputation, Hermione?" he continued, walking toward her.

"No." The same shadow of a smile touched her lips again as she kept walking toward him. "I've had a spotless reputation for twenty years. I'd be glad to dirty it for a change. Hmm, what do you think? Can you help a damsel in distress, Theo?"

She stood in the middle of the room. He stopped, with only a few inches between them. He missed the moment when the air became thick with tension. He could see, however, that she was having trouble breathing, because her chest was heaving laboriously. She made one more step and tilted her face up. He noticed that she wasn't wearing heels today and seemed much shorter. Locking his eyes on her lips, he made one last attempt to stop the madness into which they were undoubtedly spiralling.

"You shouldn't be here." His lips began to graze over her eyebrows and forehead.

"I shouldn't," she agreed, and lifted her face even higher.

"We shouldn't do it," he breathed, allowing his lips to slide over her eyelids.

"We shouldn't," she echoed, and snaked her fingers in his hair.

He kissed her lips, and she moaned. After that, he almost let his instincts take over. He lifted her onto his desk, kissing and tasting every inch of her skin he could find. Her lips sought his with the same desperate hunger. He kept an arm around her waist and a hand on the nape of her neck. He felt her fingers entangling themselves even deeper into his locks. Balancing on the brink, he made sure that no clothes were removed, and no flesh was fondled. Only lips, teeth, and tongues were allowed to participate.

He forced himself to stop when he felt his need for her slowly overwhelming the voice of reason. No, he wasn't going to allow that. "Not here," he finally managed to rasp huskily between kisses. "Not now. I'll owl you tomorrow. If you still want it, you can come to my flat." He covered her flushed face with burning kisses, and with a grunt, stepped back, disentangling her fingers from his hair in the process. The last thing he allowed himself was to press each of her palms to his lips. Then he let go of her hands. "You need to leave now," he said, and walked to the window, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

For a moment, complete silence enveloped the room. Then he heard her light steps near him.

"Very well, until tomorrow, then," she whispered into his ear, and he felt a light kiss being pressed to the corner of his lips. Purposely not facing her, he removed the wards, and she left, the sound of her steps reverberating softly throughout the room.

_Until tomorrow, then, _he repeated in his mind.

Half an hour later, he walked out of the Manor Floo. His calm and composed face bore no trace of the passionate encounter he had experienced just a short while earlier.


	3. Three

_I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank my betas - Glorioux and Iwalters5. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty and Lima Bean._

_"Reckoner" by Radiohead sets just the right mood. Try it :)_

**_Still Waters Run Deep_**

**_Three_**

"Draco," Theo called, walking deeper into the Manor.

"In the study," he heard his friend's response as he deftly navigated his way through the maze of Manor corridors. The echo his steps produced bounced freely off the portrait-covered walls, filling his ears with familiar clamour.

_Ah, the Manor ..._

Theo knew these passages as well as the back of his own hand. After the war, he had spent countless nights wandering through them in a half-coherent, drunken state, often with an almost-unconscious Draco in tow. He chuckled. That had been a crazy time. Draco, Zabini, and he had been determined to try everything, even if it eventually killed them. And, by everything, they meant everything Muggle – bars, clubs, drinks, cigarettes, pot, and so on. Pansy had even managed to supply them with fake IDs, just for the fun of having them. Only by sheer, dumb luck had they avoided serious trouble, such as the Muggle police or sexually transmitted diseases.

Flooded with memories of long ago, Theo crossed the threshold of the study with a smile, which immediately slipped from his lips as he saw what was in front of him. Draco was slumped in his armchair. His pale fingers played with a half-empty Firewhisky bottle, balancing it precariously on his knee. He was obviously still wearing the same shirt he had worn at the party, and it was certainly far from fresh. His hair was matted and unwashed. Short, blond stubble covered his cheeks and chin. However, Theo's main concern was the bleak expression of utter gloom on Draco's face. His friend of many years was undoubtedly slipping into depression, or, maybe, he was already there.

_Damn, _Theo cursed inwardly. Wizarding society still did not have one bloody clue how to deal with depression.

"Is that a smile on your face, Theo? What is it? Have you dug something up already?" Draco drawled with a slight slur, focusing his grey eyes on Theo, who walked straight to the liquor cabinet, found an empty glass, and, stepping closer to Draco, extracted the bottle from his hands.

"Nope, nothing yet. I've talked to Astoria and the rest of the Greengrasses, though," he answered. Pouring himself a glassful of amber liquid, and deliberately leaving the bottle in the cabinet, he sat down on the settee. "How are you, mate?"

"Well, still fully and thoroughly fucked up, I'll say." Draco chuckled bitterly. "What did my ex-spouse say?"

"She didn't say anything interesting, actually." Theo fixed his blue eyes on Draco's face. "I've never asked you before, but it seems to me that Astoria is up to something. Tell me, mate, why did you divorce her? What happened? I honestly thought that you two were fine. You both looked content enough. Scorpius definitely looked happy."

"Yeah, Theo, and you are definitely an expert in marital bliss." Draco rolled his eyes and shook his head wearily.

"Oh, stuff it, Draco." Theo gave his friend an annoyed glare. "You know quite well, I am not being nosy. I need more information about what happened between you two. Is there someone else?"

To Theo's surprise, his friend nodded. "Actually, there is." Draco stood up with a grunt and, in a few uneven strides, made it to the liquor cabinet. "The moment I saw her standing there, shimmering enticingly in the candlelight, I knew that she was the one." He took the bottle from the shelf, turned to Theo and, with mock enthusiasm, announced: "Sires and Madams, please meet my amber-eyed beauty, the love of my life – Firewhisky, the finest."

"Argh," Theo growled. "Can you answer the bloody question, Draco? Your pathetic life is at stake here. Maybe not only yours. Maybe Scorpius is in danger as well. So, please, do me a favour and drop this jester act."

"She breathed my air, mate."

Theo was ready to snarl at his friend again, when he noticed the gravity of Draco's tone. "What?"

"I couldn't stand it any more. It was suffocating," Draco whispered.

"What do you mean?" Theo muttered, feeling baffled by this cryptic statement.

"I couldn't breathe with her around. I couldn't stand her. It's as simple as that. Of course, she wasn't pleased with my reasoning. She never thought that I would really divorce her. Up to the last moment, she was hoping for my father's interference. Well, quite oddly, good old Lucius decided to stay the hell out of it."

Draco poured himself a drink and, standing in the middle of the room with a full glass of Firewhisky in one hand and the bottle in another, continued. "She's after Scorpius, Theo. Money, title, everything tied to an heir: you know it as well as I. She wants to have sole custody, and then simply remove me from the picture. Here's your motive, genius. Who's the blasted senior detective here?" He saluted. "Cheers, mate." And he consumed the contents of the glass in one go.

Theo raised his glass and took a swig, as well. He was still savouring the fiery liquid in his mouth, when he felt a vibration and heard loud creaks and bangs coming from the ceiling. In horror, he watched as a century-old, wrought-iron chandelier disengaged itself from its chains and, with all its horrendous deer-horns and tons of intricately-woven iron and candles, plummeted down right over the place where his friend was standing, frozen in a drunken stupor.

"Draco! Move!" he shouted, leaping from his place in a desperate attempt to reach him. Then, understanding that he was not going to make it, he pointed his wand toward Draco and yelled: "_Expelliarmus!", _blasting his friend into the opposite wall mere milliseconds before the damned iron monstrosity would have crashed onto his head.

_Gods**,**_ _what a hellish day, _Theo thought, hastily scrambling to his feet.

Through the dust, he located Draco, who was leaning against the opposite wall. "Are you all right?" he asked huskily. His throat felt terribly dry from the shouting and the dust.

"Yes," Draco replied wearily.

"What the fuck was that, D – " Theo didn't get to finish his phrase, because, the next moment, he was deafened by multiple pops.

Five house-elves simultaneously appeared in the room, and, with squeals and squeaks of distress, immediately began to clear away the debris. The oldest elf ran straight to his young master and began to sob, his voice saturated with anxiety. "Is Master Draco all good? Wrinkly is so sorry. Wrinkly is a bad elf. Master must punish Wrinkly."

Theo walked around the epicentre, stopping a few feet from Draco and listening to him chastise his servant in a low, hoarse voice.

"Wrinkly, stop your squeaking: it's giving me a headache. I've told you before – if you don't have enough staff to keep the Manor in order, do hire more help. The place is falling apart. It's bloody crumbling under my feet. This is the third incident in the last fortnight."

The number of incidents piqued Theo's interest, and he came closer. Different scenarios began to jostle in his mind, and he frowned.

"Wrinkly _is_ keeping the Manor in order. Wrinkly is checking everything every day. Something bad is happening, Master. Wrinkly is not knowing what to do," the elf answered in a small voice, probably anticipating his master's reaction.

"Stop this nonsense, Wrinkly. Clean this up and hire more elves tomorrow," Draco snapped.

When Draco eventually turned to him, Theo was quite surprised to see the famous Malfoy smirk playing on his lips. It had been quite some time. "I see that Potter's proximity has finally rubbed off on you, Theo." The smirk grew more pronounced. "_Expelliarmus!_ Really?" Chuckling, Draco patted Theo's shoulder. "Oh, well, whatever works, I guess. Thanks, mate. You broke my bottle, though. Losing your finesse, aren't you? Let's relocate to the living room. I cannot endure this calamity a second longer."

With that, he summoned two glasses, another bottle of Firewhisky, and hurriedly walked out of the room. Theo, engulfed in his thoughts, followed him. The moment they made it to the living room, he asked: "What incidents were you talking about back there, Draco? What made Wrinkly so concerned? What else has happened?" An apprehensive feeling of déjà vu began to rise from the pit of his stomach.

Draco shrugged dismissively and said: "Argh, don't start this detective rubbish with me. There's nothing to it. The Manor is bloody old. The elves are spread thin between father's villa and the Malfoy nest of gentry. That's all. Nothing more."

"Draco," Theo began warningly.

"Bugger off, Theo. You've taken the wrong trail, detective. One broken stair-step and a collapsed bookshelf are not the signs of an evil plot."

"Listen to me." With a nudge precisely aimed at Draco's shoulder, Theo pushed his friend into a chair. Hovering over him and glaring at him intently, he growled: "You have a son to protect, for Merlin's sake. It is not only about you, you arrogant git."

"I know, mate, I know." Draco let out a defeated sigh. "But, don't forget, it's Malfoy Manor we're talking about here. There are layers on layers on layers of protection charms woven into these walls. I'm safe here. Don't worry, mate."

With a sigh of his own, and still not convinced, Theo reluctantly nodded. He knew Draco too well – he would not budge. So he decided to change the subject. "Have you seen Scorpius lately?"

Draco's face fell. "Nope. I don't want to embarrass him. You know how it is for a teen when your parents suddenly appear in Hogwarts."

"Do you think Astoria has visited him?"

"I'm sure she has. Taking into consideration that Scorpius' last letter came about three weeks ago, I think she's working hard on getting him to hate me, that frigid cow. You know, Theo, the funny thing is – she isn't here any more, and I'm still bloody miserable." Draco raked his tangled locks with his fingers and abruptly stood up. "Actually, I'm tired. I'm off to bed." With this, he turned on his heel and disappeared in the dark depths of the corridor.

Theo called after him: "Draco, I think you ought to visit Hogwarts. I'll go with you. I miss my godson, as well."

"Thanks, Theo. Owl me tomorrow, and we'll pick a day," came Draco's reply, already muffled by the distance.

Theodore drew a ragged breath, cursed and stepped into the Floo. It had been a long and dismal day indeed. Feeling totally drained, he decided to follow Draco's lead and went home. He truly needed his sleep.

Next morning, when, at half-past six, he crossed the threshold of his office, Anthony was already waiting for him with coffee and a toxicology report from St. Mungo's.

"Morning, boss. I've got a present for you," Anthony said with a smile.

"Finally. Took them long enough." Taking the hospital parchments from Anthony's hands, Theo walked to his desk. There, he sat down and began carefully to peruse the report. A while later, he placed the report on the desk and muttered: "Cyanide. Hmm."

"Yup, clichéd, but effective," Anthony replied, as he casually perched himself on the corner of the desk.

Theo lit up a cigarette and spoke thoughtfully. "I don't recall smelling any bitter almonds when I examined the victims."

"Well, a quick scouring charm could have taken care of that. Obviously, the victims consumed a poison in either drinks or food. Though I don't recall any almond-scented tzimmes* being served, so it was probably a drink." Anthony was thinking aloud.

"The elf may have been placed under _Imperius _or_ Confundus, _having been either forced or tricked to serve the victims with poisoned drinks." Theo drew a sigh, inwardly cursing himself once again for paying attention solely to Hermione during the party. He didn't have even one blasted recollection of who had been their server and what exactly had been served at the party. He only remembered Hermione's pliant curves and her lips' supple softness.

"Damn it," he swore. "We need that elf, _if_ he is still alive. Hell, we need him even if he's already dead. I don't care. Did you dig up something yesterday, Tosh?"

"Yes, I did. First of all, unsurprisingly, our Ministry uses the lamest catering company I've ever encountered. I bet that sorry excuse for a wizard who owns it is someone's nephew or lover. That schnook* has no documentation, no properly-recorded names, nothing whatsoever. Thank Merlin, he at least keeps one paid elf, who supplies him with the others when the need arises." Anthony paused and took a sip of his coffee. "I talked to that elf yesterday. Gods, you have no idea, boss – he was one tough nut to crack. I never knew that elves are not particularly open-minded creatures," he chuckled.

"I'm sure you managed, though," Theo said with a smirk.

"Aye, boss, I did." Anthony gave Theo a mock-salute. "There were exactly twenty-eight elves serving the party. I have names, Floos, addresses." He took his notebook from his pocket. "We've got a lot of digging to do."

"Excellent. Take the boys with you when they show up, and find me _the_ elf. Let me know if you need my help as well."

"On it, boss," Anthony jumped up from the corner of the desk and briskly walked to the door.

Theo put out his cigarette and stood up. "By the way, have you seen the _Prophet_ today? Have they announced the date of the funeral?"

"It's today, at eleven in the morning. The _Prophet_ is on your desk, boss," Anthony replied, already in the next room.

"Oh, fuck," groaned Theo. Slowly, he sank onto his chair again, lit up another cigarette, took a sip of his coffee, and, with a sigh, opened the _Prophet. _His eyes immediately fell on Pansy's photograph, and he muttered "Fuck" once more. Puffing one smoke cloud after another and ignoring a growing pressure in his temples, he read the announcement. Some crafty journalist had managed to tell Pansy's whole life in fewer than fifteen lines. For a while, he just sat there, staring at those bleak words and thinking how bloody fragile human life was.

When the cigarette began to burn his fingers, he finally snapped out of his reverie. Giving Pansy's smiling face one last glance, he closed the newspaper and sprang up. He didn't have any time for musing – he had a murderer on the loose. Grabbing some files from his desk, he hastened from the office. He still had to take care of a few things before the funeral. First, he was going to have a word with a nice girl from Family and Children Services. Draco's words about sole custody were bothering him. Second, he ought to investigate exactly to what extent old family protective charms worked. Draco's stubborn confidence troubled him. Luckily, he knew just the place for his research: the Nott family library.

He returned to the Ministry at a quarter to two. The common room was empty: evidently, all his detectives were out elf-hunting. Stepping into his office, he immediately collapsed on his leather sofa, letting his head fall onto his palms. Massaging his aching temples, he groaned. The funeral had been dreadful. Many of his fellow Slytherins had attended. Afterwards, Blaise and Draco had dragged him to the Leaky Cauldron. There, they had sat in complete silence as they drank glass after glass. Even Blaise hadn't cracked any jokes, which was highly unusual, and, therefore, it had felt eerie. After the third round of Firewhisky, the dread and the silence had finally become unbearable. So he left, leaving Blaise and Draco to drown their sorrows in an inordinate amount of alcohol.

Now, sitting in his office, he frantically tried to get himself back to his normal composure, and, so far, he was failing. He wished Anthony were here. His colleague and friend was always able to help him snap out of this sinking feeling of helplessness.

"Fuck," he grunted, and lit up his customary cigarette. Inhaling slowly, he concentrated fastidiously on the taste, savouring it, waiting for it to calm him. Unexpectedly, the cloud of grey smoke brought to his mind the recollection of a mellow, seductive whisper:_ "Until tomorrow, then"_, and the soft kiss which had been pressed so enticingly into the corner of his lips. Next, his mind showed him a memory of the steep slope between Hermione's narrow waist and her luscious hips, which had been starkly defined by the tiny black dress. He groaned again. This time, however, it was an altogether different sort of groan.

Oh, yes, that was just the thing he needed. He abruptly stood up and went to his desk, a sense of urgency evident in his every movement. Grabbing a quill and conjuring a white parchment, he wrote:

_Meet me at the far west-wing Floo in ten minutes. T_

"Brevity is the soul of wit,"* he muttered to himself, folded the paper, and stalked out of the office. Just a mere few minutes later, he was at the Ministry Owlery. When the note had been sent, he immediately began to move toward the aforementioned West Wing Floo. That part of the Ministry was dedicated to the Patents archive. Except for the hundred-year-old archive-keeper and infrequent visitors, the wing was abandoned.

Purposely not allowing himself to rush through the Ministry halls and keeping his steps measured, Theo steadily moved closer and closer to his destination. Along the way, he contemplated the possibility of Hermione's changing her mind. In all honesty, he still didn't quite understand what kind of madness had twice come over them. Even now, thinking about Hermione's pliant curves, soft lips and seductive smile, he felt raw desire stirring and burning his insides.

He was far from new at this: quite far, actually. He didn't even want to think about exactly how many witches he had gone through over the years. However, it had never gone beyond a few quick, meaningless shags. Never had he remembered any of them in the midst of an open investigation, never. This was certainly the first time. Hermione was his first Gryffindor, too. Until now, he had never been particularly fond of the lot.

Meditatively, he eventually reached his destination. The corridor was quiet and entirely deserted, just as he had thought it would be. Leaning against the wall near the Floo, he waited patiently, listening to the rhythmic ticking of a clock. Inexplicably, it seemed that the minutes had suddenly exchanged their usual enthusiastic running for a torturously slow crawl. Tick, and after a long pause, tock. Then, again, tick, a pause, and another tock.

Theo drew a sigh, feeling that his miserable mood was slowly creeping back into his soul, replacing the pleasant heat of anticipation. At last, when fifteen minutes had passed, and he was already seriously contemplating going back to the Leaky Cauldron, knowing quite well that Draco and Blaise would still be there, he heard the tapping of hurried heels.

A few heartbeats later, he saw her. She wasn't wearing robes: only a black skirt and a neatly-tucked-in white blouse. Her hair seemed even shorter today. She looked flushed, a light pink blush covered her usually pale face, and her chest heaved laboriously.

She didn't stop until she almost collided with him. When she finally did stop, there was only an inch left between them. Neither spoke, and for a moment he just looked at her, taking in her plump, slightly parted lips and her heaving chest. Then, as if coming to a decision, he cradled her face between his palms and covered her lips with his. He felt her reciprocate instantly, pressing herself against him. He moaned huskily, and she echoed him with a soft mewl of her own.

The kiss was perfect. It was everything he needed, everything he was waiting for, his ultimate escape.

Tightly pressing Hermione to him, he guided them both to the Floo, where they instantly disappeared, swallowed by green flames.

*Tzimmes (Yiddish) – A stew of vegetables or fruits cooked slowly over very low heat.

* Schnook (Yiddish) – A gullible simpleton more to be pitied than despised.

* _Hamlet Act 2, scene 2, 86–92_


	4. Four

_I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank my betas - Glorioux and Iwalters5. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty and Lima Bean._

_"Reckoner" by Radiohead sets just the right mood. Try it :)_

**_Still Waters Run Deep_**

**_Four_**

In stark contrast with the glum Ministry corridor, Theo's flat met them with a brightly lit living room, every square foot of which exuded an air of masculine pragmatism. In other words, the room was the epitome of simplicity and functionality. It wasn't that Theo didn't appreciate the posh pretentiousness of his nest of gentry, also known as Nott Mansion: he simply couldn't stand it. He found all those gilded frames, silk-covered walls, centuries-old tapestries, intricate woodwork, and rich velvet tedious and suffocating. Or, maybe, he was just allergic to dust mites. Either way, as a result of this distaste, his flat was all about clean lines, light, and air.

He kissed the witch in his arms the moment they stepped out of the Floo. Hermione readily parted her lips for him, and he invaded the warm cavern of her mouth hungrily, drawing yet another needy moan from her. The fervour with which she pushed her soft, heaving breasts against his chest had him reeling with desire and forced him to seek more of her. His right hand found its way to the nape of her neck, where his fingers twisted themselves into Hermione's short, copious locks. Theo tugged her hair sharply, pulling her head back and causing the witch to arch her neck temptingly. He launched himself onto the newly exposed skin, eager to feel its slight saltiness mingled with a soft aroma of her perfume on his tongue. _Fuck_, she was so bloody delicious.

Keeping her in his strong embrace, Theo allowed his left palm to slowly trace the alluring curve between Hermione's waist and hips. That same steep curve had left him breathless two days ago on the backstairs. He dragged his hand up along the ample contour of her thigh, before it came to rest on the swell of her arse. Cupping her bum, he pressed her to him tightly, grinding against her, letting her feel his hunger for her. In turn, Hermione emitted a low, guttural groan and met Theo's hardness with a thrust of her own, creating the most pleasurable friction. "Bugger!" grunted Theo, "When have you become so unbearably sexy, Granger?"

"Who said that I have become sexy, Theo? Maybe, I always _have been _sexy and you just haven't noticed? Hmm?" she giggled hoarsely.

Theo smirked and returned to her lips, reclaiming them once again. He wasn't in a hurry. He intended to uncover everything that Hermione Granger had to offer, bit by every succulent bit. She came to him, and right now he couldn't care less that she was married. She was _his_ for the taking. He knew that she would be perfect no matter where he would chose to start. _Aghh, all the things he wanted to do to her_…

He didn't get to ponder that thought for long, however. A heartbeat later, Hermione abruptly disentangled herself from him and stepped back. _Did she change her mind? _bolted through his head._ It would be really sodding difficult to stop now._ A jolt of panic stabbed his groins, and the wizard darted a quizzical glance at Hermione.

The sight of her pupils dilated with lust eliminated his concerns instantly. The witch wasn't about to stop. On contrary, Hermione's eyes were focused on him with almost predatory determination. Not missing a beat, the witch deftly undid the buttons of her shirt and threw it aside. Her black skirt followed, leaving Hermione only in her skin-tight, ivory silk slip that salaciously clung to her voluptuous figure. The subtly shimmering fabric ended somewhere around mid thighs, showcasing Hermione's well-sculptured legs. Theo watched the witch appreciatively. Unhurriedly, he savoured every detail – the delicateness of her thin ankles, the soft roundness of her knees and the fullness of her breasts. The sight of her pebbled nipples straining against thin silk made him groan.

When his eyes fell on her inflamed lips, she licked them as if she was purposely teasing him. "Shit!" Theo growled inwardly, imagining that hot and eager mouth on him. Unwilling to contain himself any longer, he reached for the witch, turned her around and pulled her into him, almost impaling her pert arse onto his hard, throbbing erection which was begging for freedom and friction. He leaned down and kissed her shoulder, running his lips along her neck to her jaw before shifting to her mouth again. His arm held her hips hard against him as his hand slid along her warm, bare skin, finding its way quickly and unerringly to the damp curls hiding under the silky slip.

"No knickers?" he rasped in surprise. Never in a thousand years would he have imagined that Hermione Granger could walk through the Ministry's corridors without underwear.

"I tossed them right before coming to you," chuckled the witch. Her tongue traced Theo's jawline, and she said, "I thought, it would spice the things up a little bit."

"Mm, it was very proactive of you, Granger, even _naughty_, I do say." Theo let out his answering chuckle, probing deeper between her thighs. Hermione snorted, and the wizard felt how her nimble fingers sneaked themselves between them. She made quick work of his zipper and dived in, finding him more than ready for her. Her quick strokes had him gnashing his teeth. His own fingers twitched with anticipation and delved into her welcoming wetness. Hermione hissed and whispered huskily into his ear, "I think it's time to show me the bedroom, detective."

Not wasting time on words, Theo shifted the witch in his arms, until both of his palms were firmly planted under her bum. He lifted her with ease and sprinted toward his bedroom. Once there, he gently placed Hermione on a bed covered with a simple, indigo blue bedspread and quickly removed his shirt and trousers. Meanwhile, the witch on his bed made herself comfortable and beckoned him with a breathy, "Hurry up, Theo. I am getting cold here."

In one brief movement, Theo removed last pieces of his clothing and crawled onto his bed. "Well, I cannot leave a damsel in distress, can I?" he whispered in her ear before launching himself on her lips once again.

Later, after he had unwaveringly driven Hermione into yet another orgasm, and had finally spent himself deep inside her, the wizard collapsed on the tangled bed sheets. The exhaustion, stress and lack of sleep took over, and Theo dozed off, though not before he placed a possessive hand over Hermione's breast.

When he opened his eyes, a mere three minutes later, as it seemed to him, twilight had already swallowed the room, filling it with shadows. The other side of the bed was empty and cold. He sharply pulled himself upright and leaned against a black, wooden headboard, listening. An absolute silence surrounded him. It was clear that Hermione had left while he was asleep. "_Fuck!" _he cursed, summoning a cigarette from a bedside table. While lighting the cigarette, he noticed a note lying on a pillow beside him. On a small piece of parchment, in a delicate cursive script, was written:

_Thank you for reminding me how good it can be. Hermione._

Theo cursed again and vanished the note. He wasn't even sure why Hermione's disappearance peeved him so much. Any other day, with any other woman, he would have been happy not to be compelled to participate in an awkward aftermath. With Hermione Granger, however, it was an entirely different story. As it happened, he had looked forward to talking to her. He had questions, damn it! He wanted to know why, for Merlin's sake, she had come to him in the first place. He still didn't wholly understand his sudden attraction to her, and it would have been helpful to know her motives, at least. Her note did hint at them, but still the detective in him wanted to know more.

Had he been a mere lay for her? The thought that she had simply returned to her little, cosy nest charred his insides. The image of Ronald Weasley slobbering his saliva all over her made him gag. As irrational, inexplicable, and stupid as it was, he just couldn't help himself. At the moment, he couldn't stomach the thought of her being with someone else, be it her husband of twenty years or any other bloke. Such a strong and idiotic reaction was new, or, perhaps, long-disregarded, and undeniably unexpected. The fact that, over the years, he had seen so many cases of domestic violence sparked by infidelity, didn't help, either. Though, to be honest, he genuinely doubted that Weasley could actually harm Hermione. He didn't seem to be a violent type.

Puffing one cloud of smoke after another, Theo tried to think. Eventually, he concluded that the best course of action would be to stop thinking about Hermione. He still had a murderer on the loose, and, possibly, a friend in danger. He sprang from the bed and went to the loo. Twenty minutes later, looking fresh and sharp, he stepped out of the Ministry Floo and walked slowly through the abandoned corridors. His mind returned to his investigation: Hermione Granger was forgotten for now.

On reaching his office, he found a report from Anthony on his desk. His team of detectives was still busy looking for the elf that had served poisoned drinks to the victims. Anthony wrote that he felt they were very close to the target. Theo also found a note from Potter, in which the Auror informed him that the Greengrasses had filed a formal complaint, accusing him of being prejudiced. Theo furrowed his brows and read the last words from Potter's note aloud.

_You have seven days, Nott. If, by that time, you are not through with the case, I shall be forced to take over._

"Bugger," he growled. This hiccup certainly didn't help, but it wasn't the first time someone had complained about him or an investigation. Such things were bound to happen from time to time. It was an occupational hazard, so to speak.

After the Ministry, he went to Malfoy Manor to check on Draco. He was hoping to discuss Astoria's custody of Scorpius with him. He also learned a few noteworthy things about the Manor's protective spells. Alas, he found Draco flat-out drunk and utterly incoherent. Sighing, he made sure that Draco went to bed, left him a vial of Hangover Potion, and asked Wrinkly to make sure that his young master would take it in the morning. With that, he returned to his flat, picking up Chinese takeout on his way. After dinner, two cigarettes, and one glass of firewhisky, he finally managed to fall asleep.

Next morning, Anthony met him with a peculiar expression and a _Prophet _in his hands. "Check this out, boss," Anthony said, slamming the newspaper on his desk. "To be honest, I never fully understood their mésalliance," he added quietly.

"What is it? What mésalliance?" With a sudden feeling of apprehension pulsing somewhere in his throat, Theo glanced at the paper and saw a flashing headline:

_Troubles in Paradise!_

_According to our trusted source, yesterday night Hermione Weasley, nee Granger, left her family home and checked into a hotel! Possible official statement today! Read details on page 3._


	5. Five

_____I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. A huge thank you to my beta - Lima Bean._____

_**Still Waters Run Deep**_

**_Five_**

Theo fixed his eyes on the headline:

_Troubles in Paradise!_

_According to our trusted source, yesterday night Hermione Weasley (nee Granger) left her family home and checked into a hotel! Possible official statement today! Details on page 3._

A distinctively nonchalant "hmm" was the only reaction he allowed himself. Despite the fact that he was quite close with Anthony, Theodore's secretive nature still urged him to keep his private affairs just that, _private_. Plus, he couldn't speak even if he wanted to, not with that hard, pulsing lump lodged in his throat, and hence he stayed silent for a while. Feeling Anthony's eyes burrowing into his skull, he eventually tore his gaze from the newspaper, pushed it aside, and lifted his head to look at his senior detective.

Anthony looked wistful, and his dark brown eyes were focused on the _Prophet _as well. "_Hermione Granger left her family_," he quoted with a sigh."Isn't it bizarre? Bizarre and somewhat wretched, I'd say. That's the end of an era, boss, right there," and the wizard pointed his finger at the headline.

Theo uttered one more muffled, noncommittal "hmm", cleared his throat, which still felt very much constricted, and then asked, a bit hoarsely: "What's the plan for today, Tosh?"

The other wizard raked his fingers through his thick, curly locks and shook his head, as if trying to shake off his sudden melancholy. "Stephen and I are going to visit Hogwarts today," he informed Theo as soon as he collected himself. "Alex and Seth will wrap it up with the rest of the elves."

"Hogwarts? Whatever for, mate?" Theo frowned.

"Well, apparently, a few elves from Hogwarts serviced the party." Anthony shrugged his shoulders. "At least, that's what we managed to dig up." And, probably noticing Theo's doubtful expression, he added: "Yeah, I know, though now, with elves being free, everything is possible, I reckon. Either way, Stephen and I are on it." The wizard turned around and strode toward the door, pausing on the threshold. "I'll say '_hi_' to Scorpius from you if I see him. I think it may take the whole bloody day to flip through the Hogwarts elves," he said, and disappeared into an adjoining room.

Something nudged Theo in the stomach at these words. _Hogwarts, elves, Scorpius_, echoed in his ears, as tattered slivers of thought began to swirl in his head. There was something there: a thread, Theo was certain. He needed to ponder that, and preferably without that blasted, flashing headline about Hermione distracting him.

"All right, Tosh, good luck. Bring me that damned elf, will you? We needed him yesterday!" Theo called after his colleague. "I don't like Harry bloody Potter panting down my neck," he continued quietly, more to himself. Then, pushed by a throbbing feeling of sudden uneasiness, he spoke a bit more loudly again. "Be careful, Tosh. Sonya will bite my head off if something happens to you. Elves can be crafty."

"Nah, don't fret, boss, my sweet kitten won't do such a thing. She'll just hex your balls to kingdom come," Anthony replied from the next room. "And maybe back. _Maybe_ being the key word," he added, and guffawed. A few minutes later, the sound of a door being opened and then closed suggested that his senior detective had left.

Finally alone, Theo turned his attention to the _Prophet _again. He read the heading once, twice, and then muttered, "Bollocks!", lit a cigarette, and proceeded to page three. His heart, his blasted, stupid heart that was supposed to be imperturbable and unresponsive, thudded agitatedly in his throat. _She left Weasley,_ jostled in his mind, and some unknown feeling pleasantly warmed his insides, _she fucking left bloody Weasley! _

Of course, the article itself lacked any real information, except the name of the hotel. Theo cursed and threw the paper on his desk, puffing an irate cloud of smoke into the air. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Immediately, the images of his recent intimate encounter with the witch in question swam forward from the back of his mind: Hermione giving him a wry smile; Hermione moaning and arching against him; Hermione's chocolate eyes fixed on him. Hermione, Hermione, Hermione.

"Ach," he growled, and puffed another cloud of smoke in the air as his nostrils fluttered with barely controlled agitation. He felt bewildered and peeved, yes. However, there was also something altogether different fluttering inside his chest. He felt pleased, and he couldn't deny it. On some basic, primitive level, Theodore Nott was utterly gratified by the fact that Hermione Granger had left Ronald Weasley, and he wasn't inclined in the slightest to fight that, because it felt bloody brilliant!

Theo uttered a half-groan-half-chuckle. _I wonder what the Auror Potter thinks about it_, he mused. _Speaking of which … _The detective in him took over without any warning: he needed to see Potter about the Greengrasses. Blast! All this Granger business was clearly affecting his ability to concentrate on the case. He was about to spring up, when soft footsteps in the hall caught his attention, and he focused his blue eyes on the entrance.

"Theo." A lazy drawl came from the corridor, and, a second later, Draco himself appeared at the door.

"Draco." The detective greeted his friend and let his gaze slide over Draco's tall frame. The blond wizard looked every inch his usual sharp and impeccable self this morning. Only the dark shadows under his grey, stormy eyes and his slightly more angular facial features indicated the miserable state of mind in which he spent most of his time nowadays.

"Hey, mate," Theo said. "What makes you glow like a thoroughly shagged witch this early in the morning?"

Draco arched a single eyebrow at him, with an arrogant Malfoy smirk already in place, and replied, rolling each syllable as only a true Malfoy could: "Regrettably, out of us two, Theo, _you_ are the shaggable one at the moment. Enjoy the witches, my friend, while I am forced to spend a gigantic amount of time dealing with the bitches." He chuckled bitterly and sauntered across the office. Grimacing in distaste, he muttered: "I honestly cannot comprehend this nasty habit of yours. Can you, I don't know, chew on gherkins instead, because the smell is truly atrocious." He made the cigarette smoke disappear with one impatient hand-wave. "Wrinkly said you wanted to see me," he said as he perched on the edge of Theo's desk.

Theodore put out the cigarette, sighed, and nodded affirmatively. "I did. I talked to a girl from the Family and Children Services. She said that, since Scorpius is fourteen, the judge will ask him about his preferences. Ultimately, it all comes down to whom he chooses. That's why Astoria's working hard to turn him against you. If Scorpius says that he doesn't want to have anything to do with you, you are out of the picture."

Draco hissed: "Fucking frigid bitch," under his breath, and the knuckles of his clenched fists turned white.

"That said," Theo continued, "I am still not convinced that she tried to kill you. It just seems too severe for her, and, to be honest, just a hair too far for the Greengrasses in general. I think you should write to Scorpius, Draco. Explain everything to him: he's a sharp-witted lad, and he'll understand you. We can go to Hogwarts together. How about tomorrow?"

Draco didn't answer. He just sat there silently, his gaze dark and brooding.

Watching his friend warily, Theo spoke again. "Also, I checked some old parchments in my family library. Your tenacious confidence that you are safe in the Manor is nothing more than a heap of rubbish. Any elf who was born a Malfoy servant has access to it, and given that half of your elves were freed after the war and are now working for only Merlin knows whom, all this blather about your safety is utterly nonsensical. Your century-old wards won't protect you against a Malfoy elf under _Imperius _or_ Confundus_, Draco."

"It's still the safest place for a Malfoy," the blond wizard snapped stubbornly.

Theo growled: "Bollocks! Why the hell are you being so pig-headed, Draco? I'll tell you again: it's not only about you, you arrogant git! You have a son!"

"Scorpius is safe at Hogwarts, and I am safe enough at home," Draco stated with finality.

Knowing quite well that it was the end of the discussion, Theo growled: "Bugger!" and lit up another cigarette. Inhaling deeply, he let nicotine douse his annoyance.

An uneasy silence settled in the room, and Draco, still perched on the edge of the desk, glanced around, as if trying to find something that would calm his nerves as well. Theo's brain registered the precise moment when his friend's grey eyes landed on _The_ _Prophet_. _Damn! _He cursed under his breath, berating himself for not having vanished that blasted paper earlier. He didn't have to wait long for the reaction that he knew was definitely coming. In a few minutes, Draco threw the parchment on the desk, and, fixing his steely, piercing gaze on him, asked: "What is this drivel about?"

Theo shrugged his shoulders as indifferently as he could, and replied: "This particular drivel is about Granger, if I recall correctly."

"Granger finally left the Weasel, eh?" Draco drawled, keeping his eyes focused on Theo's face. "Hmm, interesting."

Theo slowly inhaled and read the headline once again. "Looks like she did," he replied, keeping his face blank and turning all his attention to the cigarette in his hand.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Hmm, I wonder," he murmured. "You know, I still remember when and how you started working with Potter in the first place. However, I never understood why. It was Granger, wasn't it? She found you and asked you for help, and you couldn't tell her '_no'_, couldn't resist her doe eyes full of innocence and admiration. It took, what, a few of her chocolate-coloured glances, a few sweeps of her curly eyelashes, and our tough detective melted."

"What are you blabbing about? I've never cared for the chit," Theodore muttered defensively.

"Well, frankly, I never believed that particular line. Actually, I always suspected quite the opposite. You didn't pursue her. That's the truth. Though now that I think about it …" Draco trailed off, probably trying to recall something. A minute later, Theo saw the realization dawn on him. "The Ministry's party," the blond wizard whispered. Suddenly, he jumped off the desk and, pointing a long, pale finger at Theodore, exclaimed: "You weren't in the hall when the hell broke loose! You weren't there: you went after her! Oh, shite, mate!" He put his palms on the desk, leaned closer to him, and drawled softly: "Is she any good?"

"Bugger off, Draco!" Theo growled, with a clear warning in his voice.

Draco straightened and smirked, obviously pleased by the response he had managed to elicit. The next instant, however, his face grew serious, and he said, without a trace of mockery: "Potter will skin you alive."

Theodore exhaled a little ring of smoke and nodded. "Yep."

"Bloody hell, Theo! This is bad. She is not one of your one-night-stand arrangements. She is a freaking Granger: she doesn't do anything halfway. Seriously, though, is she any good?"

"You know the answer, mate. A gentleman never – "

"- tells," Draco finished for him. "I need a drink," he unexpectedly exclaimed. "Are you with me?"

"No, I can't. I still have a murderer on the loose, remember? The one who is apparently after your pale arse."

"Yeah, well, that's too bad." Draco saluted Theo and walked away, leaving the door open. "Come by tomorrow morning. We'll go to Hogwarts together," Theo heard his voice from the corridor. The detective drew a heavy sigh, and dropped his chin on his arm as he pondered his blond friend's words about Hermione_. Was Draco right? Did they really have a history with Granger?_ He muttered: "Bollocks," abruptly stood up and briskly strode out of the room. He didn't have time for all that useless soul-searching, and such a pathetic thing was reserved for sissies anyway. He, on the other hand, still needed to see the Auror about the Greengrasses.

It didn't take him long to reach the Auror's quarters, since they were just down the hallway. He walked in and greeted a few wizards who were sitting in the first room with a nod as he continued to Potter's office. At the entrance, he heard loud voices and halted, listening carefully. He could clearly hear Potter saying, in a strained tone: "Ron, please, calm down."

"Why, Hermione? Tell me why!" someone, presumably Ronald Weasley, was yelling.

Theo arched his eyebrows and moved closer to the door, since he too was quite interested in knowing '_why'_. The sounds of heavy footsteps and light rustling reached his ears, but it was Hermione's stern voice saying: "Ronald, let me go, you are hurting me!" that sent him into action. The next instant, he flung the door open, and his knuckles met Ronald Weasley's jaw without any preamble. That move not only felt brilliantly right, it also remedied the situation instantly, knocking Weasley on the kitschy red rug that covered the parquet, where he immediately clutched his face and yelled: "What the hell?"

Potter, still behind his desk, shouted: "Nott, what the heck are you doing!" And Hermione looked at him with an expression which, to be honest, he couldn't immediately decipher.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, taking her hands in his and furiously examining the two sets of bruises that had already begun to bloom on her slender wrists.

"I am fine, Theo," she whispered. "You shouldn't have – " She didn't finish, because, right at that moment, a roaring, ginger blur leaped from the floor, and an unexpectedly heavy fist burrowed into Theo's face. Luckily, he didn't lose his footing. However, he had to admit that the sheer force of Weasley's punch caught him by surprise and impressed him. And it did take him a moment or two to pull himself together.

"Ron!" Hermione and Potter shouted simultaneously. The redhead closed the distance between him and his wife and, looming dangerously over her, rasped: "So it's him! Answer me, damn it!"

"Ron!" Potter shouted once again. It was obvious that the Auror hadn't a clue how to deal with the drama that was unfolding in front of him, and was failing miserably to control the situation.

Theo spat the blood that filled his mouth, drew his wand, and hissed: "Step back, Weasley!", shoving him away from the witch with his shoulder.

Ronald glared at him, at his wife, at his long-time friend, and then at his wife again. "You disgust me! The whole lot of you!" He threw the words at them through clenched teeth, wiped his split lip, and marched from the room, shutting the door with an ear-splitting crack.

Using the momentary pause, Theo glanced around, trying to gauge the atmosphere, which was not serene, to say the least. The shocked Potter was slumped behind his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose, his glasses slightly askew and his hair as wild as ever. Glassy-eyed, Hermione still stood in the middle of the room, absentmindedly massaging the bruises on her wrists.

Finally, she gathered her wits and spoke. Gazing at her friend apologetically, she said quietly: "I am sorry, Harry. I didn't mean for you to get so involved. I will talk to you later, all right?"

Potter only managed a curt nod, and the witch spun on her heel and hastily left. "Why are you here, Nott?" the Auror asked, fixing his tired green eyes on the detective. Quickly changing his mind and deciding against talking about the Greengrasses at that precise moment, Theo shrugged his shoulders and answered: "I was just passing by, Potter. Later." With that, he sprinted after the witch, entirely ignoring whatever Potter was shouting after him. Theodore Nott had a mission: he needed to talk to Hermione.

He caught up with her in the corridor and grabbed her elbow, steering her into the investigators' quarters. "Why did you leave?" he asked, once he had kicked the door of his office shut and pressed her back against his chest, non-verbally placing the wards and silencing charms around them.

She was tense, at first, but when his lips touched her curls, she melted into him.

"Why did I leave Ron, or, why did I leave while you were sleeping?" she queried, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Both," Theo rasped, already covering her neck with kisses, even if it was against his better judgement.

"You didn't strike me as a cuddly type, Theo," she replied, and arched her neck, presenting him with more skin to kiss and nibble. "I just wanted to save you from the awkward aftermath."

"And why did you leave Weasley?" he whispered into her hair, and felt rather than saw that she drew a heavy sigh.

"It was time. To be honest, it was time a few years ago. We became just two strangers who happened to live under the same roof long ago, and it wasn't healthy or fair for any of us, especially the kids. We all knew it ought to happen. Ron was just being," her voice shook slightly, "well … himself."

Feeling a sudden and incomprehensible anger rising in his chest, Theo turned her towards himself, glared straight in her eyes, and snarled: "And what exactly was my role in your domestic drama?"

Hermione didn't waver, and, keeping her chocolate irises on him, hissed defiantly: "In what role do you see yourself, Theo?"

"I don't! I don't see myself taking any part in it," he barked, caught by surprise by her question. A second later, though, he added, a bit more softly: "I don't know."

"Hmm," she hummed, lifting herself on her toes. "Well, then, I guess you'll have to decide, detective." And she sharply yanked him down by his tie and pressed her plump, hot lips to his.

The moment their mouths met, an overwhelming need to have her consumed Theo. They still needed to talk, and he still needed to understand. But all these things were postponed now in the light of a greater need, the need to take Hermione Granger right there and then.

This time, it was nothing like their yesterday's encounter, which had been filled with slow exploration, foreplay and eventual seduction. This time he wasn't gentle, and he wasn't unhurried, and he wasn't suave. No. This time he was needy and domineering. He simply tore apart her modest white shirt and bra, jerked her skirt up and her knickers down, picked her up and dropped her on his desk. With a rasp, he launched himself on her breasts, feeling her frantic finger in his hair and listening to her gasps and moans as his teeth closed on one of her dusky-pink nipples.

It took him mere seconds to make work of his fly, and another few to position himself between her thighs. He pushed in and groaned – she was so fucking wet. He grasped her hips, caught her lips with his, and drove himself up to the hilt inside her. And then they were moving, moaning, cursing. Together. Theo thrust in and out of her in utter delirium, possessed by only one thought – to have her now.

"Theo," she moaned huskily, and the next second they were coming, convulsing and shuddering in the throes of their mutual ecstasy. He collapsed on Hermione's breast, and she wound her trembling limbs around him, pressing him to her sweaty, salty skin, keeping him on her, in her.

He didn't know how many minutes had passed when a sudden flash of light forced him to open his eyes. The smoky, opaque shape of an English bulldog, which he recognised as Stephen's Patronus, materialized in front of him, and he heard his senior detective's voice saying: "We are in St. Mungo's. Anthony has been hurt."

_**Here we go again :). Another chapter for you, my darlings. Please review. Thank you.**_


	6. Six

_I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank my betas - Glorioux and Dany. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty._

**_Still Waters Run Deep_**

**_Six_**

_He didn't know how many minutes had passed when a sudden flash of light forced him to open his eyes. The smoky, opaque shape of an English bulldog, which he recognised as Stephen's Patronus, materialized in front of him, and he heard his senior detective's voice saying: "We are in St. Mungo's. Anthony has been hurt."_

At first, he almost gave in to the urge to close his eyes, tighten his hold on the warm, comforting body in his arms, and simply ignore that bloody reality, which had once again barged in and ruined an utterly perfect moment.

"Fuck," he muttered, as he disentangled himself from Hermione's limbs and stood up. Only seconds later, he was swamped by the number of possible scenarios with which his imagination, running amok, supplied his mind. Buried deep in his thoughts, he straightened his trousers and the rest of his clothes with precise, mechanical movements, and strode towards the door, simultaneously removing the wards and charms around him.

Only, when he was already by the exit, Hermione's hoarsely whispered "Wait" caught him and forced him to pause. _Damn_! Hermione! He had managed to forget about her entirely. He stopped and slowly turned to face her, feeling guilty for neglecting her and preparing himself for her wrath. After all, it was he who, one moment, had dragged her to his office and ravished her on his desk like a man possessed, and then, a moment later, had tried to leave without a single word.

He was surprised to detect no trace of disapproval in her chocolate eyes. On the contrary, still dishevelled and flushed, she looked at him with genuine concern. "Do you need any help, Theo? Do you need me to go with you to St. Mungo's? I can talk to Sonya," she offered as she leaped from his desk and began fixing her torn shirt. Here she was, the Granger of their youth, ready to throw herself on the embrasure. He stifled the wry, cynical chuckle that lodged in his throat.

"No." He shook his head, intently watching how her quick fingers closed little pearl buttons, deftly hiding the marks he had had the audacity to leave on her skin. An inexplicable wave of annoyance momentarily got the better of him, and he snapped sharply: "Do me a favour, Granger, stay the fuck out of it!" With that, he turned to the door and put his hand on the handle. Her sudden, audible intake of breath, however, made him stop. He growled, and, with a muffled curse, spun around once again and marched toward her, as she stood frozen in the centre of the room. He reached her in two long strides and cupped her face between his palms. Roughly caressing her bottom lip with his thumb, he rephrased his last words much more softly: "Stay out of it, Hermione, please." With this, he pressed his lips to hers in a fleeting kiss, and then walked out of his office, closing the door behind him in order to afford her at least some privacy, though he could still hear her calling after him: "Send me a Patronus if you need me, Theo."

Marching down the corridor, he managed to reach the first gents' on his way without encountering anyone. Once inside, he frantically hastened to the sink and opened a faucet. Muttering muffled, incoherent obscenities, and waiting until the water in the sink turned ice-cold, he drove his fist repeatedly into the mirror in front of him. Then he splashed his face with water until his fingers felt numb.

Minutes later, he emerged from the St. Mungo's Floo, and strode towards the nurses' station. Irritably, he acknowledged that the familiar dull ache behind his eyes was back, and that the loud pulsing in his temples was as annoying as ever. There were few things which he loathed more than hospitals. Something about those white walls, the smell, and the way his steps echoed through empty hallways seriously ticked him off, making the situation even shittier.

He was already quite wound up by the time he reached a grumpy-looking nurse. He recognised her face immediately – apparently, he had dealt with her before – and asked her about Anthony with as much politeness as he could muster at the moment. Alas, there was little love lost between his Investigations unit and the staff of St. Mungo's, and so she just flat-out refused to give him any information about his detective, blubbering some rubbish about their privacy protocol. It nearly took all his self-control not to hex her into oblivion, though he did shove his official Auror badge, which he had bribed Potter to give him long ago, into her face rather violently, and hissed through clenched teeth that if she, ignorant cow that she was, were to waste another millisecond of his time, she would have to answer to the Kingsley himself. That did it; a moment later, he was on his way.

Soon, he discovered Stephen, who was sitting on a bench across the hall from the closed door of Anthony's room. His head rested on his hands, and his slumped shoulders didn't imply anything even remotely positive. Theo sped up, muttering: "Damn."

The sound of his steps caused Stephen to raise his head. "Hey, boss," he said quietly when Theo was close enough to him. "They aren't letting anyone in," he added with a sigh.

"What happened?" Theo asked, forgoing the greeting.

"Damn it, boss, I simply don't fucking know. We spent the whole day talking with the Hogwarts elves and didn't find out anything, couldn't dig up a single clue. Those little nitwits just kept shaking their overgrown heads at us, bloody stubborn creatures." Theo watched as Stephen's typically calm face twisted into a livid grimace. "Eventually, when we were fed up with that drivel, I went to inform Headmistress that we were done, and Tosh went to check on Scorpius. Five minutes later, the kids found him near the stairs, unconscious." Stephen shook his head in bewilderment. "Christ! I just don't get it! We all know Hogwarts as well as the backs of our hands. It doesn't make any bloody sense whatsoever!"

"Calm down, mate. What did the Healer say?"

"Nothing. They haven't come out yet."

"Did you let Sonya know?"

"I didn't, but I think the hospital staff did: it's in their bloody protocol. I reckon she'll be here any minute."

"Bugger," Theo muttered, and automatically lit up a cigarette. He didn't manage more than two draws, though, before an angry-looking nurse appeared in front of him.

"You cannot smoke here, sir," she informed him in a hostile tone that left no room for argument.

He shot her a baleful glare, retorted unapologetically: "I'm not," and vanished the cigarette. She let out an annoyed humph and disappeared as swiftly as she had emerged a mere moment ago. "Ugh!" he grunted. Those two stolen puffs hadn't provided any relief at all, and he growled with frustration, fixing his eyes on the white wall.

"We need to go back to Hogwarts," Stephen said quietly. "Those blasted elves know something, Theo. I can tell." His voice grew more agitated. "We ought to use Veritaserum on them!" he almost shouted, and loudly smacked the palm of one hand on the wooden surface of the bench.

"Balls! Veritaserum means Potter would get involved, Steph. You know that as well as I! Stop this hysterical wailing: it isn't helpful!" Theo snapped. "I'll go to Hogwarts tonight and get to the bottom of everything." He squeezed Stephen's shoulder, trying to reassure him, even though his words weren't necessarily true. His intention to turn Hogwarts upside-down was a given, though. Stephen nodded and fell silent, gazing at the opposite wall.

Sighing, Theo conjured another cigarette. Absent-mindedly rubbing it between his fingers and trying to get at least a whiff of tobacco, he thought back to their morning talk with Anthony, replaying it in his head, word by word. At this point, he was absolutely certain that there was a connection between Scorpius and what had happened to his teammate. The fact that Anthony had been injured on his way to see the young Malfoy wasn't a mere coincidence. He just couldn't fit the Hogwarts elves into the picture. Was someone trying to protect the boy? His next thought made him shudder. Just what kind of shite has little Scorp got himself into? Fuck!

This train of thought was interrupted by Sonya's voice, which came from the end of the corridor. "Theodore Nott!" she shouted. "What have you dragged my husband into, you lying bastard?"

"Salazar help me," he muttered, and turned to face a petite, slightly plump, dark-haired witch, who was moving rapidly through the hall toward him. Her furious hazel eyes were fixed on him as she continued shouting, enhancing her words with angry gesticulations.

"You swore to me, Theo! Last time, right here, in this same corridor, you swore!"

"Sonya," he muttered.

"Don't _Sonya_ me!" She collided with him at full speed and, without further preamble, slapped him across the face. "Where is he? Where is Tosh?" she demanded, supplementing each question with a blow to his chest. "Is he all right? Don't just stand there gaping at me! Tell me!" With that, she abruptly turned to the closed door and started twisting the handle frantically, trying to force it open.

Knowing her well, he managed to seize her hand just a second before she drew her wand. "You can't go in there. They're not done yet," he said, gently pulling her to him and away from the door. She let out a defeated whimper, swivelled around, and, with the words: "I hate you", pressed her face into his chest. Her muffled sobs reached his ears, and he groaned. He couldn't stand women's tears: he simply couldn't stand them. "Sonya, please," he whispered hoarsely, stroking her heavy black curls soothingly, and thinking that he truly, truly needed a cigarette.

It seemed that someone, somewhere, heard him and finally took pity on him, because the door of the hospital ward suddenly flew open, and a tall, ginger-haired Healer appeared on the threshold.

"Missis Goldstein?" the Healer inquired, focusing his eyes on Sonya's back. She sniffled, wiped her tears, and spun to face him.

"Yes."

"Healer Dickinson. Nice to meet you."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, I don't give a damn about your name, boy! Tell me about my husband!" Sonya snapped, and pursed her mouth into a tight bow, peering heatedly at the young man and not too subtly letting her hand hover over her wand-pocket.

To Theo's surprise, Dickinson didn't waver under her scorching glare, and continued, in a slightly nasal voice with professorial overtones. "Your husband's condition is stable, Missis Goldstein, and he will be fine. He sustained a serious spine injury, but we have managed to repair it. We will keep him in a magic-induced coma until morning, in order to help the bones and the nerves fix themselves. We expect him to make a full recovery. By the end of the week, he will be as good as new."

"Let me in. I need to see him," Sonya demanded, trying to make her way around Dickinson, who was blocking the door.

"Only one person can go in there," he drawled.

"Wait. 'Sustained a serious spine injury'." Theo echoed Dickinson, as the realisation dawned on him. "You mean that some bastard broke Tosh's neck?"

"Well, ultimately, yes," Dickinson said, nodding. "Something or someone obviously caused the trauma. Whether it was an unfortunate accident or a premeditated assault …" he continued to lecture in his nasal voice. Theo, however, had stopped listening to him.

"Steph, stay here with Sonya," he ordered. "I'm off to Hogwarts: I need to talk to Headmistress." Then he turned to Sonya. "Sonya," he started, and paused, not knowing what to say.

"Go get them, Theo." She patted his arm.

"I'm sorry," he muttered once again.

"I knew it when I married him. Go!" He watched her walk into the ward, while Stephen conjured a chair and sat down near the door. Satisfied, he hastened toward the Floo with only one thought in his mind: to get a hold of Headmistress. Wasting no time on unnecessary pleasantries, he shouted into the fire: "Theodore Nott, Magical Law Enforcement, chief of Special Investigations unit, requesting an audience with Headmistress."

He didn't have to wait long before the fire turned greenish-blue again, and a voice, all too familiar from his childhood, answered: "You may come through, Mister Nott."

He muttered a quiet, "Fuck," and stepped into the green flame.

Headmistress McGonagall met him in her cabinet. Apart from a few additional wrinkles around her eyes and lips, she didn't seem to have changed. Maybe she had become a half-inch shorter, or maybe he had simply grown since he had seen her last. In any case, by the way her lips were pressed into a hard, straight line, he reckoned that tough old McGonagall wasn't going to be very cooperative. Sure enough, all he managed to force out of her was a talk with the head of the Hogwarts elves, which proved to be an utterly useless exercise: the blasted creature just kept repeating: "Me already tells everything to your wizards. Me knows nothing else."

To add to his disappointment, he wasn't able to uncover anything at the spot where Tosh had been found, either, though he had a somewhat noteworthy encounter right before he returned to Headmistress' office. A shifty-eyed little elf caught him by the main stairs, and, tugging on his sleeve, whispered cryptically: "Perkins not belongs in Hogwarts", and immediately disappeared with a puff. Who the hell _Perkins_ was, and whether any of this was even a tiny bit relevant, was a complete mystery to Theo. Three minutes later, McGonagall assured him that, to the best of her knowledge, there were neither students nor elves by that name in the castle.

As though to make the hellish day even worse, she then denied him access to Scorpius. "You do realise, Mister Nott, that it is well after midnight. The students are sleeping. Come back in the morning with at least one of Mister Malfoy's parents, and we will talk," she said to him, in the same stern manner that he remembered from when he had been a student there. At that point, it became apparent that there was absolutely nothing more for him at Hogwarts, and so he clenched his fists, swallowed his frustration, and bade her good-bye.

He did swing by the Manor, although he was sure that Draco would be drunk again. Just as he had predicted, his blond friend was lost to the world, and no amount of swearing would have made him coherent any earlier than in the morning. Theo wrote him a quick note, which contained more expletives per square inch than he had ever managed before, and left. On his way home, he bought and ate a slice of pizza from a small Algerian eatery that was just round the corner from his flat. Hot food, though it did prevent imminent death from starvation, did nothing for his mood.

As he walked through his door, empty-handed, tired, and irritated as hell, he was met by the highly unexpected sight of Granger, asleep on the sofa in his living room. Sitting down on the leather edge of his lounger, he watched her for a long moment. There was no makeup on her face, and he could see scattered freckles on her nose, which somehow reminded him of the first time she had come to his office. She had still been so young, then, so naïve.

He smiled at the recollection, and gazed at her neck and slightly-heaving chest. She was wearing some kind of Muggle sleepwear, and looked so incredibly soft and inviting that he couldn't muster enough strength to be angry with her. To be completely honest, he was glad to see her there, and, contrary to his customary pessimism, he wanted to hope that her presence would help to keep his skull-splitting headache at bay.

After a while, he eventually dragged his eyes away from her, stood up with a grunt, and quietly crept into the bathroom. When he returned, already showered and clad in lounge trousers and a tee, she was awake, watching him with sleepy eyes.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Hey," he replied, and sat near her again.

"How's Anthony," she asked, taking his hand into hers.

"He'll be all right," he muttered.

"Are _you_ all right?" she asked, as she lifted his hand to her lips and pressed them to his knuckles in a soft caress.

"Probably not," he confessed, stifling a yawn. "Scooch," he whispered, and summoned a blanket and a pair of pillows from the bedroom. She shifted, and he moved to lie near her. "Why are you here?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his nose in the nape of her neck.

"I thought that you might need someone around," she explained.

She was right: he did need someone. The surprising part was that this someone was Hermione Granger. Too exhausted to contemplate that thought further, he abandoned it altogether. The moment his head touched the pillow, his eyelids closed and absolutely refused to open again. "Will you stay?" he breathed into her hair.

"Yes," she murmured softly, and pressed her backside closer to him.

"Good," he managed to mutter, and then, already functioning on pure reflex, added: "_Nox_."

_**Please review, my darlings. Thank you so much.**_


	7. Seven

_I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank my betas - Glorioux and Dany. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty._

**_Still Waters Run Deep_**

**_Seven_**

_"Will you stay?" he breathed into her hair._

_"Yes," she murmured softly, and pressed her backside closer to him._

_"Good," he managed to mutter, and then, already functioning on pure reflex, added: "Nox."_

When Theo opened his eyes to the grey, murky light of an early morning, he was surprised to find himself on the sofa and not alone. However, the short curls tickling his nose instantly refreshed his memory, reminding him exactly who was sleeping beside him. It seemed that they hadn't moved through the whole night: Granger's back was still pressed firmly against his chest, and his nose was still buried in her hair. Not inclined to get up just yet, he simply lay there for a while, breathing in the powdery scent of her skin and enjoying the calming softness of her body against his.

It wasn't something that he normally did. In fact, he could easily count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had allowed himself to meet the sunrise with a woman in his arms. Morning cuddles had always been one of the biggest taboos in his book. His rules were easy enough to follow: no attachments, no cuddles, no hassle. These rules had worked pretty well for him through the years, keeping his voluntary solitude safe from any invasion. Now, though, clasping the sleeping Hermione to him, he had to admit that it felt fucking brilliant. Even his familiar headache had gone away during the night and had yet to return.

He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes, fully intending to continue basking in that unexpected comfort that Granger had managed to provide so effortlessly. Alas, as soon as the flushed colours of dawn filled the room, his mind took over and pushed all his sappy musings aside. Urgent thoughts about Scorpius, Draco and Anthony drove him into action. He groaned a quiet 'fuck', carefully and somewhat regretfully untangled himself from the warmth of Granger's limbs, rolled from the sofa and hurried to the loo.

Twenty minutes later, clad in his usual grey suit and ready to leave, he walked back into his living room. There, he leaned against the doorframe, lit up a cigarette, and, puffing one cloud of smoke into the air after another, contemplated Hermione as she slept. After a few minutes, he uttered a half-annoyed, half-amused humph and shook his head. He couldn't bring himself to wake her, even though it went against his every rule. Then again, he thought, she had never been one to fit into any boundaries. Draco was right: she definitely wasn't one of his one-night stand arrangements. Theo chuckled. There, on his sofa, lay trouble personified: that much was fucking obvious.

Eventually, after a few more deep, thoughtful draws on his cigarette, he summoned a piece of parchment and wrote:

_Had to run. T_

He placed the paper on the pillow near her, and, already inwardly cringing at what he was about to do, leaned closer to her, buried his nose into her hair once again and inhaled deeply. That move was so mushy, so unlike him, and yet, somehow, he needed it. A second later, he hastily stood up and straightened his suit with quick and precise movements. Reckoning that the roar of the Floo would definitely wake her up, and startling himself by the extent of his own thoughtfulness, he strode toward the door, pausing near the maple bookshelf to pick up a suede pouch which contained a bezoar: he had been in the habit of carrying it with him ever since his first case with Potter. Having stashed the bezoar securely in his chest pocket, he quietly opened the door, walked out of his flat, and Apparated to the gates of the Manor from the stairs.

Later, as he sauntered along the grey, gravel-covered walk towards the front door of the Manor, shivering in the chilly morning breeze, he lifted his collar and scolded himself: "That's what you get for being a bloody sissy." The morning was utterly miserable, and its bleak, dark-grey clouds seemed to be sitting right on his shoulders. Fortunately, the walk wasn't particularly long, and he reached the main entrance reasonably soon. The door creaked the second his knuckles touched its oak surface, and Wrinkly's face appeared in the opening. Glancing at him warily, Wrinkly stepped back with a grunt, allowing him to enter a dimly-lit, silk-stuffed foyer.

"Master Draco still sleeps," Wrinkly squeaked, and, pointing his knotty finger at the old clock that stood in a dark corner, added: "'Tis too early."

Not listening to his mumbling, Theo dismissed him with an impatient wave of his hand and proceeded straight to Draco's bedroom. Once there, he didn't bother to knock, but simply marched inside, and immediately pulled the heavy draperies apart and pushed the old window open. That earned him a disgruntled moan from the slumped figure on the bed, followed by the words: "What the fuck, Theo? Why on earth have you opened the window? It's bloody freezing as it is."

Ignoring his swearing, Theo settled in the armchair across the room and calmly replied: "Because you stink." Draco, whose voice was hoarse from sleep, could only groan again in reply, and, with a string of muffled curses, drew himself up into a sitting position.

Focusing his bloodshot eyes on Theo, he asked: "What time is it?"

"Half past six."

"Are you a fucking nutter? Go away and come back at a normal time! And shut the bloody window!" With that, Draco made an attempt to turn on his side and draw the covers over his head. Theo, however, was quicker, and with a flick of his wand the covers flew from the bed, leaving Draco's pasty white body exposed to the freezing air.

"Yesterday, someone fucking broke Tosh's neck when he went to check on Scorpius!" he snapped at Draco, not moving from the armchair. "Do you understand, you ignorant half-wit? I wouldn't have bothered to take you with me, but old McGonagall won't let me speak to Scorp without you. We have to be in Hogwarts before eight." Draco tried to interject, but Theo raised his hand in a warning gesture. "And, for Salazar's sake, don't start with me: I'm not in the mood. I was here last night, but you were completely sloshed again. You have to stop that bloody drinking, Draco! It's getting on my nerves!"

Draco sprang up from the bed, muttered: "Fuck you," and, naked though he was, shuffled off to the loo, though not before shutting the window with an angry bang. "Don't you dare smoke in my bedroom, Theo!" he yelled from the other side of the door.

Knowing that it was going to take a while, Theo relaxed in the soft cushion of the armchair and lit up a cigarette, thinking about Scorpius, then, for some reason, about Granger's children. Her daughter, Rose, he remembered, was the same age as Scorp, and Hugo Weasley was a bit younger. He wondered how Hermione handled the situation, and on whose side the kids were. It seemed odd to him that she hardly had shown any signs of distress over a crisis in the middle of which she had most certainly found herself. Then, however, recalling how glassy her eyes had been after the incident in Potter's office, and the heavy sigh with which she had talked about Ron, later, in his room, he decided that perhaps she was distressed, and that he simply hadn't paid attention.

Those musings brought him back to the question that had bothered him for the past few days: _why the hell was she with him all of a sudden?! _The annoying part was that he still couldn't explain his actions, either, unless there had been some kind of pent-up mutual attraction, which they had both managed to ignore all this time. "Balls," he muttered, and forced his mind to return to the case he had to solve.

At one point, Wrinkly came in with breakfast on a silver tray. The little old creature grimaced at the burning cigarette between Theo's lips and pointedly placed a teacup on the table in front of him. "You drinks tea now," he said brashly, simultaneously vanishing the cigarette and all traces of smoke in the air.

Theo sighed and decided not to confront him. He simply poured himself a cup of tea and took a slice of toast, which he spread with a generous amount of goat cheese. As a single man, he had learned to never pass up food. It was a simple rule or survival. And so he drank his tea and ate the toast. Finally, about thirty-five minutes later, Draco emerged from his wardrobe, clean, fresh, hair brushed and parted, and clad in a white shirt and a dark green suit.

"All right, you psychotic fuck, I'm ready!" he muttered, clearly still peeved about Theo's method of waking him. That state of mind, though, didn't interfere with Draco's appetite, and he also poured himself a cup of tea and snatched up a slice of toast.

"Does the name Perkins ring any bells for you?" Theo asked, finishing his tea.

"No. Why? Who is it?" Draco focused his grey eyes on his friend.

Theo shrugged his shoulders. "I haven't the remotest idea yet. Do you, by any chance, have an elf named Perkins?"

"No," Draco replied without a moment for consideration.

The quickness of this reply didn't bode well with Theo, and he narrowed his eyes. "How do you know?"

"Please don't play the detective with me, Theo. I know my elves!" Draco said, petulantly pressing his lips into a thin line.

"Well, frankly, I doubt it. Ask Wrinkly," Theo said, in a tone that left no room for argument. He truly wasn't in the mood for a battle of wills with a veritable Malfoy.

Sensing his attitude and suddenly becoming surprisingly complaisant, Draco called the elf, who appeared instantly with a soft pop. "Wrinkly, do we have any Gherkins working for us?"

"Perkins," Theo corrected him, rolling his eyes at this impudence.

Wrinkly made a vague head-movement, muttered something in Elven and began vigorously to twist his left ear.

"What?" Draco barked. "Can you answer the bloody question in English?"

The creature shifted uncomfortably and then muttered: "Noes, Master. Perkins not works here in the Manor." With that, the creature disappeared with a loud snap before Draco could dismiss him.

"Satisfied?" Draco said, glaring at Theo.

Theo found Wrinkly's behaviour suspicious and wasn't satisfied in the slightest. They were on a tight schedule, however, and so he nodded and said: "No, but we have to go."

Minutes later, they stood in front of the main fireplace of the Manor, and Theo, once again, shouted into it: "Theodore Nott, Magical Law Enforcement, chief of Special Investigations Unit, requesting an audience with Headmistress."

"Is Mr Malfoy with you, Mr Nott?" he heard Headmistress's voice.

Draco stepped closer to the Floo and drawled: "I am right here, Professor."

"Very well, then, you may come through," sounded from the flames, and they stepped inside.

The Headmistress wasn't very glad to see them, and, of course, didn't refrain from reminding them that Scorpius was probably still asleep. However, with the father of the boy right there, she couldn't really stop them from seeing him, and, having made Draco sign some foolish papers, sent them on their way to the dungeons.

The Head of Slytherin House, the new DADA professor, met them by the entrance, and, a few minutes later, they were finally in Scorpius' room. Scorpius, though still in bed, wasn't asleep. "Papa! What are you doing here?" he exclaimed, and leaped toward his dad, his white batiste nightshirt fluttering around his thin body. "My boy!" Draco said in a choked voice, and they awkwardly embraced.

This subdued but clear display of fatherly affection, coming from his always-aloof friend, made Theo's throat tighten. He backed into one of the shadowy corners of the dormitory, giving the two Malfoys a bit of privacy.

For a while, father and son just sat on the bed and talked quietly, catching up with each other. Eventually, Theo was forced to draw attention to himself by giving an artificial cough. Scorpius turned to him and shouted: "Godfather!"

"Hey, lad! Long time no see!" Theo said with a smile, and they performed the elaborate handshake that they had invented, to Draco's immense annoyance, many years ago.

Draco, who was still sitting on the bed, waved his hand in a _be my guest _manner at Theo, and said, with a slight smirk: "Mr Detective here has questions for you, son."

Scorpius returned to his place beside his father and fixed his wary grey eyes on Theo, who nodded and proceeded with the questioning. It transpired that the boy knew next to nothing about the events of the previous day. Apparently, he had been the last one to find out about what had happened. Disappointed, and not really hoping for any substantial answer, Theo asked: "Scorp, do you know someone named Perkins?"

"Here we go again," Draco muttered.

Scorpius shrugged his bony shoulders and stated, as if it were a very well-known fact: "Of course. He's my elf."

"What?!" Theo and Draco shouted in unison.

Ignoring Theo's baleful glare, Draco asked his son, his usual drawl forgotten: "What do you mean, your elf, Scorpius? Since when?"

Scorpius, clearly confused, gave his father a baffled glance and said: "Since forever, papa. I can remember Perkins as long as I can remember myself."

"That's how well you know your elves, Draco!" Theo interjected.

Draco turned to him and growled: "Don't jump to conclusions!" Then, with a sudden maniacal determination on his face, he shouted: "Perkins!" and again: "Perkins!" When nothing happened, he triumphantly declared: "See!"

Theo breathed out: "Astoria!"

"That's right, genius!"

"I have to go," Theo said, and hurried from the room.

"Wait! I'm going with you!" Draco called after him. "Their Floo is still open for me, and I don't think they'd dare to lock me out, at least not as long as they all live on Malfoy money."

"Papa, wait." Scorpius grabbed Draco's sleeve as the words rushed from his mouth. "I have to talk to you. I have to tell you something important. I know what happened to Aunt Pansy, I read it in the _Prophet. _I think it's all my fault. I … I was angry with you, and I said that I wanted you d– "

"Shh, shh, boy, don't talk nonsense." Draco pressed his son to his chest and ruffled his blond locks. "This mess has nothing to do with you. I'll take you home this weekend, and we'll talk. All right?" Turning to Theo, he said: "Come on, mate," adding, when they were out of Scorpius' hearing: "Let's get that frigid bitch!"

Theo grimaced at his friend's crude words: he loathed the turn the situation had taken. Despite the facts, he had still harboured the hope that Astoria wasn't the one behind the attacks, and that Draco's blind hatred against her was nothing more than a divorce-induced haze. Now, however, he was beginning to lose that already rather slim sliver of optimism.

They marched out of the Greengrasses' fireplace a few moments later. "They're in the drawing-room. It's teatime," Draco explained, knowledgeably leading Theo through the corridors. They soon reached the ivory door, and Draco pushed it open, barging inside without any preamble. Theo rushed after him and was forced to halt on the threshold, just as Draco had done a millisecond before. There, in a brightly-lit yellow room, sat two women: Astoria Greengrass and … Hermione Granger.

Theo caught his breath. It was not only that the spectacle was utterly preposterous. He could clearly feel that something was wrong. He scanned the room, noting the elegant china on the table, and Granger, who had frozen with a teacup near her lips, evidently just taking a sip. He fixed his eyes on her and was about to ask what the hell she was doing there, when the faint scent of bitter almonds reached his nostrils. The next moment, she swallowed her tea. As if in slow motion, he saw her open her mouth and try to draw a breath. She succeeded only in uttering a long, hoarse wheeze and frantically clutched her throat, her horrified eyes already bulging for lack of oxygen.

_No! No! Not her!_ The thoughts exploded in Theo's mind as he stood frozen, watching her slide from the embroidery-covered armchair with her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Luckily , at this point, his instincts kicked in, and, pushing Draco out of the way, he grabbed her, fished the bezoar from his pocket, and shoved it down her throat. For a few torturously long moments, nothing happened. "Breathe, damn it!" he shouted, shaking her limp body with desperation. At last, the bezoar did its job, and she spluttered and began to cough violently. He frantically pressed her to him, and his mind went completely blank. It was only when she had managed to suck some air into her lungs and opened her eyes that he realised just how scared he had been. He clasped her face between his palms, pressed his dry forehead to her clammy one, and whispered furiously: "What the fuck are you doing here?"

_**Please review, my darlings. Thank you so much.**_


	8. Eight

_I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank my betas - Glorioux and Dany. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty._

**_Still Waters Run Deep_**

**_Eight_**

_He clasped her face between his palms, pressed his dry forehead to her clammy one, and whispered furiously: "What the fuck are you doing here, Granger?"_

Hermione drew a shuddering breath and opened her mouth, trying to answer. She only managed to produce a hoarse "I" before another fit of coughing took hold of her.

"Don't try to talk," Theo said hastily, realising that he probably should have delayed his question. Sliding on the floor, he leaned against the armchair and shifted her in his arms, so that her back was against his chest and her head on his shoulder. Scanning the room, he exclaimed: "We need a glass of water!"

His urgent voice forced Draco out of his trance. Ignoring Theo, however, he ran toward Astoria, shouting: "What have you done!" Astoria, still frozen with the teacup clenched in her hand, gasped and flexed her fingers. Suddenly airborne, the cup met the unforgiving marble edge of the table and exploded into countless pieces.

The scent of bitter almonds filled the room, kicking Theo into action once again. "Don't touch anything, Draco! Step back!" he shouted.

Draco, already hovering over pale-faced Astoria, turned to him, and snarled: "Why? Why are you protecting this bitch?"

"Step away from the crime scene, you fool!" Theo said, and drew his wand, ready to send a Stunner in Draco's direction. To his astonishment, it was Astoria who, the next moment, silenced and immobilised Draco with a quick movement of her wrist. With an expression of utter disbelief, he collapsed on the floor.

"I told you not to use that word when referring to me, Draco," she said coldly and then called, "Biscuit!"

A second later, a plump elf appeared in the room.

"Missus calls Biscuit?" he squeaked, first eyeing Draco on the floor with interest and then, as he noticed the chaos in the room, sniffing with disapproval.

"Yes. We need a glass of water." Biscuit nodded and popped out of the room with a grunt. In a moment, he returned with a glass of water on a sterling-silver tray. Astoria gestured in Hermione and Theo's direction, and he shuffled towards them, nonchalantly stepping over Draco.

Theo felt Hermione tense against his chest, and heard her whispering something which vaguely resembled "Thanks."

"Don't talk! Drink," he said, and held the glass to her lips, still pressing her to him. She nodded and began to sip the water.

Meanwhile, Biscuit grumbled: "Biscuit needs to clean!" and moved toward the tea table with determination written on his face. Theo's shout of "No!" startled him, causing him to jump back from the table and retreat to the farthest corner.

"Can you control your elf, for Merlin's sake?" Theo snapped at Astoria, as he hastily placed a Stasis Charm over the whole almond-scented area.

"You don't need to clean this, Biscuit," explained Astoria to the disgruntled creature. Biscuit muttered some gibberish and sank even deeper in the corner.

Looking thoughtfully at the pieces of porcelain on the floor, Theo asked: "Do you, by any chance, own an elf named Perkins?"

Astoria shook her head. "I don't think so." She turned to Biscuit, who was slowly inching toward the door. "Do we have a Perkins?"

"No, Missus. Perkins belongs to young Master Scorpius. Perkins comes here for many years. Perkins comes here today, too." Biscuit sighed, and muttered: "Biscuit goes now, Missus. Yes? Biscuit cooks dinner and has no time for talks." He opened the door and hastily disappeared.

"Damn," muttered Theo and removed the charm from Draco, who leaped up and said with mock-gratitude: "Thank you. Took you long enough!" Then he pointed at Astoria, and added: "So, do you really believe that she doesn't have anything to do with it?"

Theo replied with simple, "I do," noticing that Draco had refrained from using his favourite 'b' word.

Defeated, Draco dropped into a chair, harrumphed, and loosened his tie. "It's just getting better and better," he said. "I don't understand what the fuck is going on with that blasted elf. If neither the Malfoys nor the Greengrasses own Perkins, how on earth can he belong to Scorpius? And why would Scorpius' elf, if he is Scorpius', want to kill anybody at all, let alone Pansy or Granger?"

Theo shook his head. "Elves are not my area of expertise."

"I think I may know," Hermione suddenly interrupted, her voice still weak and scratchy.

"I told you to stop talking," Theo snapped at her.

"Let her talk," Draco said. You know she's physically incapable of staying quiet for long. Besides, elves are precisely her area of expertise."

"Please, Theo, let her," Astoria voiced in pleadingly. "I'm afraid for Scorpius."

Hermione drew herself a bit more upright, though Theo didn't let go of her, and explained. "I've dealt with a few cases like this before. It's possible that your Perkins was born at the Manor as a Malfoy elf. Then, if he was freed with the others during the reform, he could bind himself to Scorpius, which would make him his only Master. If this is the case, he won't obey anyone except Scorpius, and, perhaps, the head of the Malfoy elves."

Theo considered this theory for a few moments. "All right," he said finally, and stood up, dragging Hermione with him. "Draco, you need to go to Hogwarts and get Scorp. Wait for me at the Manor, and don't try anything. Do you understand?"

"Why?" drawled the blond wizard, his arrogance back in place.

"You've heard what Granger said. For the record, I think she's right. Anyway, this elf is dangerous. If you must entertain yourself, talk to Wrinkly. I think he knows something."

"Yes, sir!" Draco said, with a sarcastic salute. Yet he stood up and hastened from the room, though not before shooting Astoria a glare.

After sending his Patronus to Alex and Seth, Theo turned to Astoria and said: "My detectives will be here shortly. Wait for them: they know what to do. All right?" He locked his eyes on her.

She nodded, then whispered: "Please keep Scorpius safe."

"I will," he assured her, and turned to Hermione. "And you, Granger, are going with me to St. Mungo's." She tried to protest, but he wrapped an arm around her and Apparated them to the hospital.

Half an hour later, Hermione had been checked by Healer Dickinson, and all traces of poison had been removed from her clothes and skin. The bezoar made all the difference, of course, and, to Theo's enormous relief, she was declared healthy and almost ready to go. Healer Dickinson just wanted to give her some special syrup for her scratchy throat. While the remedy was being prepared, she sat on the bed, and Theo leaned on the windowsill, watching her intently.

"You never answered my question, by the way. What were you doing at the Greengrasses'? As I remember, I specifically asked you to stay the hell out of this."

Hermione chuckled. "My visit to Astoria had nothing to do with your case, Theo. She was helping me to find a new house. I need one before the holidays."

Theo frowned. "How on earth could Astoria, of all people, help you to find a new house? It makes no sense whatsoever."

Hermione shook her head and smiled. "Honestly, Mr. Detective. Here I was, thinking that you knew everything, or, at least, were more observant than other people. For your information, Pansy and Astoria have been estate agents for several years, and very successful ones, too."

"Really? Draco never told me," Theo muttered. _Fuck!_ He felt embarrassed.

"Draco never paid enough attention to know anything about it. He was too busy feeling miserable and bitching around. By the way, what do you plan to do with Perkins?"

Theo shrugged, and walked closer to the bed on which she was sitting. "If he's the one behind all this mess, and I think he is, my job is to hand him to the Aurors along with the evidence. Your friend Potter will know how to handle him. Or don't you trust our beloved head of Aurors?" he said, with a smirk. He knew precisely where this conversation was going, and so her next sentence didn't surprise him in the slightest.

"I think that that poor elf must be confused or psychologically unstable. I'm definitely going to insist that the case be transferred to the Magical Creatures Commission." She bit her plump lower lip, and the frown between her eyebrows instantly turned her face into an almost grotesque epitome of seriousness.

Theo chuckled and reached for her, tracing her jawline and stroking her cheek with his thumb. "Granger, Granger, Granger, you're utterly hopeless. That bloody elf almost killed you, and here you are, already concerned about his well-being and fighting for his rights." She tried to object, but he didn't let her. Whispering, "You really need to shut up, witch," he captured her lips with his before she could say anything else. Once again, her mouth turned out to be sinfully addictive, and he deepened the kiss, noticing with satisfaction how readily she melted into him.

The sound of the door thrown open, and a shout of "Hermione!" drove them apart. Recognising Potter's voice, Theo purposefully kept his hand on her shoulder, yielding to a sudden urge to show off his claim on her.

"Nott! What happened?" Potter yelled, as he looked Hermione over, eventually focusing on Theo's hand.

"Harry, what are you doing here?" Hermione said, a little too loudly, obviously feeling uncomfortable between the two wizards.

"St. Mungo's called me. I've been your emergency contact for the last fourteen years or so, remember?" Potter said. "Are you all right?" He came closer and touched her forehead, as if checking for fever.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Thanks to Theo's quick thinking," Hermione said, and a soft smile appeared on her lips. Theo, though, was unsure for whom that particular smile was intended. Potter nodded, and stared, once again, at Theo's hand, which was still draped over Hermione's shoulder.

Annoyed, Theo announced: "I'll go check on Anthony," and sauntered out of the room. Potter's voice caught him on the threshold. "Remember, you have four days left." Theo didn't bother to answer and walked out, carefully closing the door behind him.

As it happened, he did go check on Anthony, and found him asleep and well on the mend, according to Sonya. Naturally, she didn't allow him anywhere near her husband's bed. She was right, of course – Anthony did need his rest. Eventually, after a rather heated conversation in whispers, Theo decided to have a quick smoke on the backstairs. While savouring his cigarette, he ought to have been thinking about Perkins, but he thought about Potter and Granger instead. It seemed a bit odd to him that the hospital staff hadn't called Weasley, who was still Granger's husband, after all. No explanation came to him, so he just finished his cigarette, and was soon at the door of Hermione's room.

He had almost turned the handle, when he heard Potter talking. The detective in him, or the Slytherin in him, or both, forced him to move closer and listen.

"And what, exactly, are you going to do now? Are you going to tell Nott the truth?" Potter said.

"I don't know. I think he'll hate me, and rightly so," Hermione said quietly.

Theo froze, feeling his idiotic heart tightening painfully in his chest. _What the fuck? _ran through his mind, and he leaned against the door. He needed to know more.

"Do you love him?"

"I don't think I ever stopped."

"Then you ought to tell him everything, Hermione. You know it's the only way." Next, there came a sound of rustling, footsteps, and a heavy sigh from Hermione. Bewildered, Theo just stood there, trying and failing to make sense of what he had heard. He loathed surprises, and somehow he had an inkling that he wasn't going to like this one at all. "What the fuck indeed," he said to himself, reaching into his pocket for another cigarette. Alas, he didn't have a chance to light it.

"Well, here we go." Healer Dickinson appeared at the end of the corridor with a bottle of bright blue liquid in his hand. "This should help," he said, and opened the door. When they walked into the room, Potter quickly stood up, kissed Granger's cheek, shook Dickinson's hand, and, looking everywhere but at Theo, dashed out. "Four days, Nott," sounded from the corridor.

Hermione stood up, as well, and thanked the Healer; a minute later, she also was ready to go. Theo waited for her at the door, steadily gazing at her. Once outside, he stopped and grabbed her shoulder, turning her to him. "Is there anything you need to tell me?" he asked, roughly jerking her chin up and peering into her eyes.

Impressively, she didn't fidget.

"How much have you heard?" she said, worrying her bottom lip again and bravely sustaining his heated gaze.

"Enough," he said through clenched teeth.

"Enough for what?"

"For this." He once again pressed her to him and Apparated them away from the hospital. When they reappeared in his flat, he let go of her and said, hovering over her and slowly enunciating each word: "I don't have time for this now. You'd better be here when I come back, preferably with your story ready." With that, he turned on his heel and left without a backward glance.

The atmosphere at the Manor was far from serene. Two pale-faced Malfoys were in the living room, talking in hushed voices. Theo arrived right in the middle of Scorp's speech. A true Malfoy, the boy was trying to sound calm and controlled, but the shifting and shaking of his voice betrayed his agitation. "I tried to tell you, but you didn't listen. You never listen. Not you. Not mum. No one, except Perkins."

"I'm sorry, Scorpius. I wasn't aware you felt this way," Draco said wearily, dropping his head on his hands.

"That's because you never talk to me. You're always too busy for a talk. For anything, actually. When was the last time you took me to a Quidditch game? Do you remember?" Scorpius said. His father only muttered something inaudible and sagged even deeper into the cushions of the armchair.

Theo, watching from the corridor, decided that it was time to interfere. "Hullo, Scorp! Good to see you again, old chap," he said brightly, and smiled at him, hoping to lower the tension in the room a little. "So, tell me what's going on."

Scorpius almost jumped at the sound of Theo's voice and bolted toward his father. Draco immediately stood up and moved in front of Scorp, evidently to protect him.

Theo lifted his hands in a pacifying gesture and said: "Easy, easy, both of you. It's just me, see? No Potter, no Aurors, just me. Let's sit down and talk."

"Sorry, mate," Draco muttered as he sank on to the chair again. "Sit down, boy. You'll have to tell everything to Theo." Scorpius released the breath he was holding and sat down on the nearest chair, as well.

Two hours later, after a long talk with Scorpius, Draco, and Wrinkly, Theo had almost all the pieces of the puzzle at his fingertips. Of course, some details would be discovered later. The main picture, though, was clear. Perkins had been born in the Manor, just as Hermione had suspected. Disturbingly, he had been born the same year Lord Voldemort occupied the Manor. His mother had died in childbirth, and he had barely survived as well. It had been decided by the other elves that the dark magic and dark deeds that had taken place in the house had somehow injured the mother and her child.

Naturally enough, the whole community of Malfoy elves had helped Perkins's father raise him. Alas, his father died soon after his mother, and he became an orphan. Although nurtured by the elves that remained at the Manor after the reform, he grew into a loner. He was pitied and considered weird, and hadn't been taken seriously.

When Scorpius came along, Perkins became infatuated with him, and declared that he would be his only Master. Such things weren't unusual among elves, so this decision hadn't surprised anyone. On the contrary, they had been glad that the poor little orphan had finally found a purpose in life.

Sadly, what had seemed like a happy ending for Perkins and his Master, had been twisted into a tragedy. Perhaps Perkins _had _been damaged by the dark magic. In any case, his maniacal devotion to Scorpius had turned deadly during the Malfoys' divorce. Left alone with his thoughts, depressed, and extremely disappointed with his parents, Scorpius had given way to many tantrums, in one of which, blinded by rage, he had said that he hated his parents and would have been better off without them. Perkins had taken these words as his cue to action, and the rest was history.

It was a wretched business. Four people had died and another two had come close to doing so. The case had obviously been marked by the ghastly shadow of the Dark Lord. Yet Theo couldn't shake the feeling that if the Malfoys had paid more attention to their servants, or Draco to his son, everything could have been prevented. It had been one bad choice after another.

Once again burdened by a dull ache pulsing behind his eyes, Theo sent for the Aurors. After they arrived, it was over in a matter of minutes. Scorpius called Perkins, sad-eyed Wrinkly immobilised the little, ashen-faced creature with a single wave, and the Aurors took him away. Theo scanned the room. Astoria, who had come to the Manor along with Alex and Seth, sat near Scorpius. The Aurors were questioning Draco. Wrinkly, heartbroken, sobbed in the corner. Theo sighed. His job here was done. All three Malfoys were shaken but safe. _Let's hope they learned their lesson,_ he thought. The rest was in Potter's hands. Theo, however, was sure that Granger wouldn't let him kill the creature.

_Speaking of Granger …_ He waved to the occupants of the Manor and stepped into the Floo. A moment later, on the other side of the fireplace, he met her questioning eyes.

"Is it over?" she asked.

"Yes," he muttered, sat on the sofa, and lit a cigarette. "So?" he said after the first long, calming draw, puffing a cloud of smoke.

"Here. I used one of your empty vials." Hermione placed a memory vial on the coffee table in front of him. "I saw a Pensive in the kitchen, so I decided that this would be the easiest way."

Sure that he wouldn't like it and, at the same time, knowing that he had to see it, he vanished his cigarette with a grunt, took the translucent glass vessel from the table, said: "You wait here," and walked to the kitchen. There, saying: "Here goes bloody nothing," he uncorked the vial, poured the memories into the Pensive, and dove into them. The first image he saw was a younger version of Hermione Granger, with extremely short hair and a bright smile.

_"Let me teach you how to smoke, Theo," she said __laughingly.__ "You'll like it, I promise__."_

He whispered: "Fuck," and let the memories surround him.

_**Please review, my darlings. Thank you so much.**_


	9. Nine

**_Still Waters Run Deep_**

**_Nine_**

_He muttered, "Fuck," and let the memories surround him._

An hour later, Theo yanked himself from the Pensieve, took a deep breath and sank onto a kitchen chair. For a while, he stared blankly at the wall, clenching and unclenching his fists in an effort to calm himself. At last, he slammed his fists on the table, making the Pensieve and vial jump and tinkle, pushed himself up and went into his living room. He stopped at the entrance and fixed his eyes on Granger. Rage bubbled in him, and he had to grip the doorframe, as he didn't trust his self-control. Through the many years of his career, he'd never struck a witch, no matter what she'd done: he just hadn't got it in him. At that moment, however, for the first time in his life he wanted to strangle one, and the fact that it was bloody Granger wasn't accidental.

He gritted his teeth, let out a slow breath through his nose, and schooled his expression. He'd be damned if he let her see how wounded he felt. Hearing the sound of his footsteps, she turned to face him. Her pale face, red-rimmed eyes and the shadow of hope that glimmered through her weariness, made him hesitate. She looked so vulnerable, so guilty, so _his._ Shite!

Her lips curled into a small, unsure smile, and her barely audible whisper, "Theo?" reached his ears. That little smile looked infuriatingly exactly like the one he'd seen a few moments ago in the Pensieve. The memory brought a new wave of rage, and not allowing his gaze to waver, he forcibly pushed through his gritted teeth, "Get out."

She let out a gasp, and her hand instinctively went to the back of her head, as though seeking comfort in her hair, which was too short for that now. Nervously twisting one of her chopped curls, she whispered, "Theo, please."

That gesture, now also familiar, made him even angrier. Going to the door, he jerked it open. "Get out," he said again.

She stood up, made a few hurried, shaky steps toward him, and stopped only when he could feel her warm breath on his neck. Watching him carefully, she tried to touch his cheek, but he caught her hand, shoved it away and said, "Don't."

Finally defeated, Hermione muttered, "I'm sorry," and walked over the threshold. Looking at her slumped shoulders, he had to fight an inexplicable need to stop her, and when, after a few steps, she stumbled, he leaped toward her without thinking. Alas, she Apparated away before he could reach her, leaving him with a painful sensation of hollowness in his chest.

He strode back to his flat, slammed the door with all pent-up frustration he had in him, shouted, "Fuck", grabbed the edge of his coffee table and overturned it. The sound of the crash didn't quench his rage, and his idiotic heart still ached. Muttering expletives, he collapsed onto the sofa and dropped his head into his hands. How he despised himself for being so gullible. He, Theodore Nott, the detective, who really ought to have known better, had walked right into her arms and hadn't suspected a thing. The irony!

As usual, she was right. Everything had happened exactly as she'd predicted in the talk with Potter which he had overheard, earlier today, in St. Mungo's. She had showed him the truth, and now he _hated_ her so fucking much it hurt. Assuming, of course, that the intense feeling that burned his insides at the moment was really hatred. Yes, he felt fooled and betrayed. Yes, he longed to kill her, preferably with no magic involved. Was it hatred, though, or the unsolicited return of some kind of long-forgotten sappy feeling? He couldn't tell. He chose to believe it was the former, though, because the latter was bloody terrifying. At least he was certain of one thing - Harry bloody Potter was now catalogued as a prized member of the 'People I Loathe' group. Theo also created a special subgroup for the Auror. It was called 'People I Must Maim'.

As soon as he used up his entire arsenal of cusses, he leaned back in exhaustion and was attacked by the scent of her. Apparently, Granger had left behind a lingering remainder, as if the Pensieve in the kitchen wasn't enough. _Speaking of which_, he thought. Perhaps he should revisit some of her memories and try to understand what the _fuck_ had happened. Forgetting about cigarettes, he sprang up and went to the kitchen, where he paused, watching the smoky whirlpool of Hermione Granger's memories. The thought of what the bloody witch had done to him once again made him want to roar from anger. He clenched his teeth, gripped the wooden edge of the table and slowly entered the shallow surface of the Pensieve. Thankfully, this time he knew exactly what to expect, and, with one quick whirl of his wand, he found the memory he sought.

He recognised the location as the back stairs of The Leaky Cauldron. It was an evening he remembered well, in the days when they all still shared a room and worked together. They had been celebrating the cracking of another case. He could see a younger-looking Anthony and Sonya laughing with Steph, and a tipsy Potter talking with one of his Aurors in the corner. He saw himself, slightly tipsy as well, stepping out for fresh air. He remembered that he'd had one drink too many that night, but what happened next was a complete surprise.

_Hermione breathed out a milky cloud of smoke and leaned on the railing, watching the crowd inside the tavern through the dirty window. She didn't know why she had let Harry convince her to come with him. She felt utterly out of place, even though she knew all of them well. The problem was herself, of course - she wasn't dressed right, and she wasn't in the right mood, and she definitely wasn't drunk enough. She sighed and breathed out another cloud of smoke._

_She saw Theo Nott walking towards the back door and tensed. She wasn't sure that she was ready for company, especially that company. The door squeaked, a streak of yellow light momentarily lit up her sanctuary, and she found herself staring into a pair of dark blue eyes._

_"Hiding?" he said._

_"Nope." She smiled, jerked her chin up and added, "Just taking a break."_

_He nodded. "I had the same idea. It's too crowded in there." He walked closer to her, and his eyes widened. "What have you done to your mane?"_

_"I got rid of it. Too tired of dealing with it every morning." She was beginning to feel defensive. "What? Don't you like it? If I remember correctly, you said that my hair was an abomination, and that it contaminated the crime scenes."_

_"Yeah, that, I did, Granger, that I did." His gaze slid over her face and then ventured lower over her clad into a little black dress figure. "It's nice, by the way," he added when his eyes finally returned to her face._

_"Well, thank you."_

_Peering at her with interest, Theo drawled, "You're full of surprises tonight, aren't you? I didn't know that you, of all people, were familiar with these things." He pointed at the dim red glow of the cigarette in her hand._

_"Oh, this." She made a demonstrative draw. "I learned how a long time ago. It's a Muggle thing, you know. I only started to smoke regularly after the war though. At least it's better than an overdose of the Calming Draught." She shrugged. "Would you like to try? Come on. Let me teach you how to smoke, Mr Detective. You'll like it, I promise."_

_"You're funny." He chuckled. "Sorry to disappoint you, but Pansy beat you to it on this one." He stepped closer to her and leaned forward. "Do you have a spare?"_

_"Nope. Sorry." She shook her head and held out the cigarette. "Here, we can share this one, if you don't mind."_

_Looming over her and gazing into her eyes, he murmured, "I don't mind, Granger. Not at all." He took the cigarette from her, put it in his mouth, took a long draw, and puffed out a smoke-ring. "Did you get rid of Weasley as well?"_

_"No," she blurted and immediately corrected herself. "Well, yes actually. We decided to call it quits for now," she added unnecessary and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth._

_"Hmm. I see," he said, looking at her naked shoulders. "You look good in black, you know."_

_"Why, thank you. You look pretty handsome yourself," she said, staring back at him, "in your proper grey suit."_

_He smiled and took another step toward her. There was hardly any distance between them now. "You think so?"_

_"Yes," she whispered._

_"Good," he murmured and vanished the cigarette. "Tell me, Granger, what would you say if I kissed you?"_

_"Why?"_

_"Why not? We've known each other forever. You're, quite conveniently, single at the moment, and I've always been single. You look sinfully alluring in this skimpy excuse for a dress, with those lovely short locks of yours, and you just said that you find me handsome. Why miss the opportunity?" He drew a finger down the side of her face. "So, what do you say?"_

_Instead of replying, she let her fingers find their way into his hair, and drew him closer._

_"Easy, now, don't rush," he chuckled. "It always tastes better when you wait a second or two," he added and kissed her._

Theo pulled himself out of the Pensieve with a snarl. Even though he had seen this memory twice already, he still couldn't explain what the fuck had happened on the back stairs of the Leaky Cauldron. Had the two of them had some kind of previous flirtation? Why had he felt so confident that she was partial to him? Again and again, he tried to remember something, anything about that part of his past and couldn't. All he could find was a deep sense of loss and disappointment.

Of course, the similarity between the scene in the Pensieve and their encounter less than a week ago didn't go unnoticed. What a bloody fool he had been. A skimpy black dress, short locks and a cigarette - she had lured him into a trap, as easily as if he had been a boy. Why had she decided to ignite that old flame again? Had she merely been bored and in need of distraction? Or had there been more to it than just boredom? Once again, the conversation he had overheard in St. Mungo's came to mind. Theo cussed.

At least he knew that his sudden desire for her hadn't been sudden at all, but the knowledge didn't lighten his mood. Diving back into the Pensieve, he found himself in the abandoned west wing of the Ministry, which was dedicated to the Patents archive.

_Hermione hurried through the corridor, making her steps as long as her pencil skirt allowed. She had received Theo's owl a while ago, and it had taken her forever to organise her escape. One more turn and she would be there. She rounded the corner, and was abruptly pulled into a dark alcove, where two strong arms snaked themselves around her waist._

_"What took you so long?" he whispered in her ear, and his warm, soft lips covered her mouth. They kissed for a while, revelling in the hot, suffocating closeness of their bodies. His fingers glided up her stocking-clad thighs, inching her skirt higher and higher._

_"Stop," she said. "Someone will see."_

_"Relax," he said. "Nobody ever comes here." He reached her knickers and pushed them aside. Quickly opening his fly, he made her gasp with a sharp thrust of his hips and rasped into her ear, "Shh, Granger, shh. I'll take care of you, my little witch."_

The memory ended abruptly and Theo muttered, "Bugger." Never before had he heard himself saying anything that had such a proprietary feel to it. Now, in the light of this new development, he was finding it easier to understand his inability to stay in a relationship. Perhaps there was a reason why he had been called a lone wolf all those years. Perhaps, like those fucking wolves or bloody eagles, he could have only one mate for life.

His head was still spinning at that thought when he got sucked into the third memory. This time he saw her sitting on the bed in a room that he recognised as a ward in St. Mungo's. Her face was pale.

_Feeling dizzy and lost, she shuddered when the door opened with a bang, and Harry rushed in, shouting, "Hermione!" " What happened?" he asked, briskly covering the distance between them._

_"I fainted, and they didn't want to let me go alone," she explained. "I asked them to call you. Sorry."_

_Harry touched her forehead. "Why did you faint?" he said. "Are you sick? What happened? I can see that something is wrong. Tell me what it is."_

_"No, Harry, I'm not sick. I just," she faltered, took a breath and continued, "I'm pregnant."_

_Harry blinked, raked his fingers through his already messy hair, and said, "And is this good news or bad news?" The tone of his voice, however, suggested that he already had an inkling of how she would answer._

_"Try both."_

_"Is it," he paused, " is it Theo's?" When she just shook her head, he sat down and drew her into a hug. "How can it be? You've been with Theo - what, four months?"_

_"I don't know. It happens once in a while. I've had my periods, they've just been lighter than usual." Harry coughed, and she smiled. "Sorry. But I did have, well, you know, sex with Ron, right before the fight. I thought," she sobbed, "I thought, I was being paranoid ordering that paternity test, but I knew, I just knew that it's Ron's child. God, what am I to do?"_

_"Well, you have to tell Ron, that's for sure. This is his child, he has the right to know."_

_Hermione turned her tear-stained face to Harry. "But what about Theo?"_

_"What about him? I don't think he'd enjoy raising another man's child. He didn't strike me as the type, to be honest. In my opinion, as soon as you tell him, he'll take off."_

_"What if he _is_ the type? What if he truly loves me? Is there anything wrong with me? Am I unlovable?"_

_"No, of course not. But has he ever told you that he loves you? Has he?"_

_She shook her head._

_"Precisely. Ron loves you, we all know that, and I think you still love him too. You had a fling; Ron had a fling - it's all in the past now. You've got a baby on the way. You have to think about what's best for the child."_

Theo only had time to think, _Fuck you, Potter_, before another memory began. Now he was in his flat. Granger stood in the middle of the room and his younger self was looming over her.

_"I don't care whose child it is. You're with _me_ now. Weasley had his chance, and he blew it."_

_"But Ron already knows. Everyone does. I can't just say that I want to stay with you. It's not what they expect from me. They're the only family I've got left. I don't know what to do."_

_"Well, I do. I'll deal with them."_

_"What are you going to do? You're scaring me."_

_"You'll find out soon." He turned on his heel and walked to the door._

_"Please, Theo, don't," she called._

_"Don't try to stop me, witch. You are mine, and I'm not letting you go. It's as simple as that."_

_"Please, Theo!" But he was already at the door. She raised a trembling hand and shouted, "Petrificus Totalus!" A moment later, he collapsed on the floor with a muffled thud. She kneeled near him, and looking into his furious blue eyes, muttered, "I'm sorry, so, so sorry. I ... I just can't. Circumstances are against us." Stifling a sob, she pressed the tip of her wand to his forehead, whispered, "I love you," and then added, "Obliviate!"_

Theo withdrew from the Pensieve, carefully collected the memories into the vial, and sank back onto the chair. "Damn you, Granger, what have you done?" he said to himself, and lit up a cigarette. He smoked it slowly, thinking. A million thoughts jostled in his head, and not even one of them seemed logical to him. Eventually, he came to only one conclusion that made sense: he loved her. Perhaps he had known it all along and hadn't wanted to admit it.

He stood up, put out the cigarette, which wasn't helping much anyway, and left the flat. He needed fresh air, and alcohol, too, lots of it. For the first time in almost a decade, he was going to get drunk, truly, thoroughly pissed, and the bar on the corner was just the place.

He couldn't remember how he got back home, but the next morning, he woke up with a splitting headache, feeling ready to skin someone, preferably a particular messy-haired, dorky-looking Auror. No wonder that, when he staggered into his office and found Potter waiting for him, his knuckles collided with Potter's face even before he registered the thought.


	10. Ten

**_Still Waters Run Deep_**

**_Ten_**

_He couldn't remember how he got back home, but, the next morning, he woke up with a splitting headache, feeling ready to skin someone, preferably a particular messy-haired, dorky-looking Auror. No wonder that, when he staggered into his office and found Potter waiting for him, his knuckles collided with Potter's face even before he registered the thought._

**About six weeks later**

A familiar scent filled his nostrils, and he smiled. With a sleepy hum, he wrapped his arms around her, seeking more of her comforting warmth, and muttered, "What took you so long?" He tried to bury his nose in her hair, but she turned or shifted away, leaving him empty-handed and cold.

"Theo," he heard her calling: her voice, tinged with urgency, sounded slightly off-key.

"Shh," he said dozily, still trying to get closer to her.

"Theo, wake up," she said again, this time with more force.

"Shush, Granger, be quiet," he grumbled, already annoyed by her unwillingness to cooperate. _Stubborn witch_, he thought, still not inclined to open his eyes. The next moment, however, he felt something cold and sharp burrowing into his temple and heard a soft "I'm sorry." Cold panic prickled down his spine as a memory flashed in his slumberous mind and '_Obliviate_' rang in his ears.

His eyelids flew open, and he sat up with his wand already hoisted and ready to strike.

"Easy, detective," he heard Draco's amused drawl. "It's just me." Whirling his head toward the voice, he found his friend perched on the armrest of the sofa. "I tried to wake you up, and you called me Granger," Draco said with wry amusement. "Not that I'm not flattered, of course."

"Shut up," groaned Theo, rubbing his throbbing temples and wishing that everything around him would stop spinning. "What are you doing here?" he said when the pain in his head receded and his vision returned to normal. Groggily looking around, he reckoned that he had managed to doze off on his settee with his nose buried in a pillow, which apparently still held Granger's scent and, perhaps, was responsible for the idiotic dream he had just had.

"What do you mean, 'what are you doing here'?" Draco said, pouting mockingly and feigning hurt feelings. "I haven't seen you in more than a month. I've missed you, darling."

Theo straightened and cursed as he noticed a small puddle of beer that had spilled from a bottle of Carlsberg caught between him and the pillow. After cleaning the mess and slamming the now-empty bottle onto a coffee table, he lit a cigarette and took a deep draw. "Cut the shite, Draco. I'm not in the mood," he said between puffs of smoke.

Draco stood up and moved to the armchair, his face suddenly serious. Focusing his concerned eyes on Theo's face, he said, "As you wish. What the hell happened between you and Granger? It seems that everyone knows something except me, and that's hardly fair, don't you think? So, here's the deal: I have a couple of hours before my date with Astoria, and I'm all ears."

Confused, Theo arched his brows. "Come again? You have a date with Astoria?" Draco shifted uneasily under his probing gaze, and if Theo hadn't known him for ages, he would have thought that his friend was blushing. He knew better, though – Malfoys didn't blush. Ever.

"Well, these past weeks …" Draco paused and drew a sigh. "Let's just say, I had an eye-opening epiphany. I didn't come to it entirely by myself, mind you. Scorpius helped me quite a lot." He sighed again. "He told me so many unpleasant things – frank, but unpleasant nonetheless. I never knew I had been such a full-of-shite self-centred jerk. I still am, I think, and probably will be for the rest of my life. At least, I'm listening to my son now. I have to try to change, mate – for Scorp, for Astoria, for our family."

Bewildered beyond all measure by this sudden confession, Theo only managed a noncommittal 'hmm'.

"It's not only that," Draco continued, his face pensive. "Remember that day when Granger almost died? The way Astoria blasted me with that spell? It was so fucking sexy. I never thought she'd got the balls. All these years, I've been wrong and blind –of the two of us, she's clearly the one who's got them. By the way, she refused to take my money, and warded her Floo against me."

"She did?" Theo muttered. This was getting more interesting by the second. If he was completely honest, he would never have expected something like that from Astoria. Now, listening to Draco, he had to confess to himself that he'd grossly underestimated her as well. _Stereotypes_, he thought. He had been certain that he'd managed to get rid of them years ago, but, apparently, old habits die hard_._

"It's been a few weeks, though." Draco was still talking. "We've worked it out, although not without Scorpius' help, of course. We have our second date today, and I'm kind of nervous." He chuckled; his smile, however, didn't quite reach his eyes. "It helps with the guilt, you know. I feel so bloody guilty about Pansy and those other people, but especially Pansy. I should have paid more attention to my son, to his surroundings, his feelings. "

Theo nodded. "Yes, you probably should have."

"Yeah, I managed to screw up this whole parenting thing spectacularly. Blaise explained it to me rather well, the other day."

"He did, didn't he?" Theo smirked.

Draco absentmindedly rubbed his jaw. "Too well, I'd say. Apparently, you're not the only one who likes to throw punches left and right."

Finding that fact surprisingly amusing, Theo let his grin widen and said, "You can't really blame him – he does love Scorp like one of his own."

"Oh, shut it, and wipe that smirk from your face, would you? I really don't understand where you two picked up this plebeian habit." With this, Draco's uncharacteristic thoughtfulness gave way to his usual cocky manner. "Speaking of which," he said, "I heard you tried to kill Potter?"

"Maim would be a more accurate description." Scratching his unshaved cheek, Theo took a deep draw of his cigarette and puffed another cloud of smoke. "Potter deserved that punch. He said so himself."

"Care to explain what this is all about?" Once again, Draco's expression was one of genuine concern.

After a momentary consideration, Theo stood up, said, "Come," and strode to the kitchen, beckoning Draco to follow him. Once there, he focused, pressed his wand to his temple, pulled out a smoky, white string, which contained a clipped version of Granger's memories, and carefully placed it in the Pensieve. "Here. That will explain some of it," he said, and gestured to Draco, inviting him to take a look. Draco blinked, threw a wary glance at him, and dived into the memories.

Theo was on his third cigarette when Draco reappeared on the threshold of his living room, sat down near him, and, with a weary sigh, muttered, "Fuck."

"Indeed," Theo said.

"I think I'm going to need one of those." Draco pointed to the cigarette clutched between Theo's fingers. Theo wordlessly summoned one for him, and for a while they smoked in complete silence.

"Did Potter have a hand in that?" Draco said eventually. "Other than what I saw."

"He was the one who set the Weasleys on her," Theo said, and his jaw tightened. Even now, weeks later, he couldn't think about it without getting furious.

Draco cursed under his breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, and said, "I can't say that I blame you for punching him, then. To be honest, I'm surprised that you didn't cause any permanent damage."

"I tried. Stephen hauled me from him."

"Good … I guess, 'cause I really don't fancy the idea of visiting you in Azkaban." Draco's attempt at a joke didn't quite work. "There's just one thing I don't understand: where the hell was I? How is it possible that I didn't notice a bloody thing?"

"You were on your honeymoon with Astoria. If I recall correctly, Lucius sent you away and banned you from coming back until Astoria got pregnant. It took you a while." Theo couldn't help snorting, and earned a shove to the ribs from his friend.

"What about Blaise, Pansy, why didn't they know?"

"I've no bloody clue." Theo's temples began to throb once again. "I don't remember anything, anything at all. Just those crumbs that she chose to show me. Perhaps we weren't ready to advertise our … whatever it was."

"Right," said Draco, and they fell silent, both deeply engrossed in their ponderings.

"You know," Draco suddenly said, "if you had shown me that two months ago, I wouldn't have given it a second thought. I would have said: forget about it and move on."

Frowning, Theo turned to him. "And now?"

"Now, I say: Granger is a b-" Draco faltered under Theo's warning glare and rephrased, "She's been a naughty girl, there is no doubt about it. Then again, what did you expect from that lot? When cornered, they act, consequences be damned; we all know their credo. Yet you're crackers about her. Think about it, mate. It took her, what, one smile, and you were ready to do anything for her. I saw your face when she was choking on that tea. You would have killed for her. She's the one – it's as simple as that. She always was, I reckon." He puffed a last cloud of smoke and put out the cigarette. "I hate these things," he said, grimacing and muttering cleaning charm on his fingers. "So, where was I? Ah! Now, she's free and obviously all yours. She wants you, and you want her. So what if this happened fifteen years later? Why waste the opportunity? I say: let bygones be bygones and take what is yours."

"I don't know. I'm still so bloody angry with her, it hurts," Theo said. A hard clump of bitterness lodged itself in his throat.

"I understand that, mate. Seriously, I do. I just don't think this anger worth clinging to." The clock on the wall chimed five times. Draco sprang up, said, "All right, I have to go," and walked to the Floo. "Damn, I almost forgot," he exclaimed when halfway there. Returning to the middle of the room, he dropped a little parchment on the coffee table. "Astoria asked me to give you that." He turned on his heel, threw a last "Think about it" over his shoulder, and disappeared in green flames, leaving Theo alone with his thoughts.

The room was quiet, except for the ticking of the clock on the wall. Puffing one cloud of smoke after another, Theo tried to rationalise his thoughts. He hadn't seen Hermione since the evening he'd thrown her out, nor had he seen Potter after their little scrimmage. He knew from the _Prophet _that the Granger-Weasley divorce had been finalised last week. That news brought Rose and Hugo to his mind, as he wondered how they were faring. Having grown up without a mother, he always felt compassion for kids caught up in any sort of family crisis, though he was sure that Hermione and the Weasley clan had done everything possible to cushion the blow.

Other than that, however, he had tried his best to avoid thinking about Hermione over these past weeks. His mind, though, didn't agree with his decision and kept bringing thoughts about her to the surface when he couldn't control them. He dreamed about her almost every night, and that fact annoyed the shite out of him. To wake up to an empty bed was even more frustrating.

He hated it, the whole damned situation – he bloody loathed it. Before all this had struck, he had been all right. Maybe he hadn't been the happiest wizard on earth, but he had been perfectly content with his life. Not any more. Now that he'd seen glimpses of how it might have been, his solitary life had suddenly become a burden. The possibilities that his sneaky conscience kept showing him drove him berserk. Draco was right, if only about one thing – he fucking wanted her. Despite his anger and distrust, he still wanted to have her for his own. But how? How was he to learn to trust her again?

"Let bygones be bygones - easier said than done," he harrumphed, and vanished the cigarette. His gaze fell on Astoria's parchment, and he grabbed it from the table. Expecting some sort of thank-you note, he opened the parchment and was dumbfounded to find Hermione Granger's new residence address. For a fleeting moment, he seriously considered destroying that damned piece of paper, just because he was still livid. That urge didn't last long, though, and finally, after a short contemplation, he stashed it in his pocket. Muttering, "Damn you, Granger_", _he stood up, grabbed his jacket, and left his flat.

Ten minutes later, still brooding, he walked into the detectives' quarters, where he stumbled upon Anthony, sitting at his desk and reading the _Sunday Prophet, _a cup of steaming hot coffee near him. Caught by surprise, Theo exclaimed, "What are you doing here, Tosh? It's Sunday, and I don't remember your being released to work."

Anthony raised his head, looked at him, and smiled sheepishly. "Oh, come on, boss. I'm so freaking tired of sitting at home with Sonya trying to baby me to death. Honestly, I think I've gained a stone. I swear, if I'll eat one more … no, if I even smell something resembling chicken soup, gefilte fish, latkes or any other kind of tzimmes, I'll go crazier than that blasted elf – what was his name? – Perkins."

Theo snorted. 'That bad, eh?"

Anthony rolled his eyes and muttered, "You haven't the slightest idea. Don't get me wrong, though, I love Sonya more than life. She is my … everything." He smiled. "I just haven't drunk coffee for ages." And he took a swig from his cup.

"Well, I'm glad you managed to escape, then." Feeling a pang of unexpected and inexplicable envy, Theo gestured toward the _Prophet_. "Is there anything noteworthy?"

Anthony wrinkled his nose and said, "Nah, nothing, just the same domestic rubbish as always." He sighed and began to read in a bored monotone. "All right, we have one drunken debauch at the Leaky. One unfaithful husband who had his balls shrunk to a size of a raisin. Xenophilius Lovegood had another minor Wrackspurt infestation, which landed him in St. Mungo's." He sighed. "A flower shop in Diagon Alley has been vandalised again. Apparently, two former friends had a shop decades ago. Then they had some kind of disagreement, split, and opened their own shops. The sad part is that they've kept wrecking each other's lives by their unending rivalry ever since. Reportedly, this time at least forty-five exotic orchids, sixty begonias, and fifty African violets were destroyed." He snorted and shook his head. "So stupid. Why people chose to cling to the past is beyond me. Why not let bygones be bygones?"

"What did you say?" Theo said.

"Umm …" Anthony threw a puzzled glance at him and repeated, "Forty-five orchids, sixty begonias, and fifty African violets."

"No, no, after that," said Theo impatiently.

Mystified even more, Anthony said, "Why not let bygones be bygones?"

Theo raked his fingers through his hair and muttered, "Why not, indeed."

Antony frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Tosh, nothing," Theo said, staring at the wall and pondering an idea that had just formed in his head. "I think I need to be somewhere just about now. See you on Monday, and kiss Sonya from me."

Invigorated by a sudden clarity, Theo hastened from the room, and Anthony's "Whatever it is, boss – good luck!" reached him when he was already at the door.

He didn't need to look at the address again. He had memorised it without registering the fact. He knew the street, and decided to walk. The cold November wind attacked him fiercely, but he didn't feel it. On the contrary, he felt warm and surprisingly, perhaps idiotically, optimistic, and, most of all, finally at peace with himself. "Let bygones be bygones" rang in his mind. Of course! It was so simple and so bloody brilliant.

In about forty-five minutes, he stood on the steps of a neat-looking brick house. The front door was slightly ajar, and he let himself in, hoping that Hermione was home, and preferably alone. It was warm and cosy inside. Soft jazz was streaming from the wireless that stood on the dining table, and Theo could hear Hermione singing along in one of the rooms. Moving toward the voice, he soon reached a brightly-lit veranda, and easily located her perched on a windowsill, though he wasn't sure exactly what she was trying to do.

Her back was turned to him, and he took a moment to appreciate her soft form, which was clad in blue knitted trousers and a simple white tee. Her hair was longer now, and her wild curls formed a ridiculous halo around her head that glowed in the reddish glimmer of the sunset. Somehow, the sight of her made him smile. She looked … lovely.

Shaking his head at the sappy sentiments that had popped into his mind, he said, "Do you need help with those shutters?"

Startled by the sound of his voice, Hermione toppled down from the windowsill, forcing him to dash across the room. He barely managed to catch her in time.

Gathering her in his arms and pressing her to his chest, he muttered, "Careful."

"What are you doing here?" she said, her voice muffled against his jacket.

"I think it's pretty obvious: saving a damsel in distress, " he said with a chuckle and buried his nose in her hair, hungrily inhaling her scent.

"No, really, Theo, what are you doing here? I need to know." Hermione drew back from him and peered into his eyes. "I need to know," she repeated, her voice quivering. "Being in your arms like that. I just can't, I need to be sure that there's a chance for you to forgive me. Because …" She drew a shaky breath. "As guilty as I am in all this mess, I don't think I'm strong enough to lose you again. So, please, tell me: why are you here?"

Tears filled her eyes. She sniffled and the tip of her nose turned pink, making her look so vulnerable that his heart tightened painfully. He clasped her face between his palms, wiped her tears with his thumbs, and kissed her, though not before whispering against her lips, "Shut up, Granger."

**The End**

**Here we go, my dear readers. Hope you like this final instalment of my noir-esque tale. I started this story two and half years ago. So much has changed since then, it's scary. ****It's been trying at times, but I managed to finish this fic. So, yay! Though, to be honest, I'm a bit sad. I've fallen in love with Theodore Nott. He's quite a babe, isn't he?**

**But, fear not, my darlings. I have a new story already brewing in my mind. And it's Harry, Hermione, Draco one. Hehe ;) **


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